


How the Light Gets In

by bottle_of_smoke



Series: A Taste of Salt [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Accidental Christmas Fic, Adultery, Closeted Character, Divorce, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Fix-it fic, Forced Outing, Happy Ending, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Mild Horror, POV Eddie Kaspbrak, POV Richie Tozier, Reddie, Repression, Richie Tozier Cries During Sex, Switching, alternating pov, eddie kaspbrak loves herd immunity, richie tozier cries during EVERYTHING, richie tozier knows all the disney princess songs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21978502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottle_of_smoke/pseuds/bottle_of_smoke
Summary: Eddie survives Neibolt, and learns to take risks.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: A Taste of Salt [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582000
Comments: 113
Kudos: 469





	How the Light Gets In

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to A Taste of Salt. It's not necessary to read that fic first, but it makes more sense if you do. I think in that fic I implied Richie's parents were dead: I changed my mind. The title is from "Anthem" by Leonard Cohen; it's been used about a million times in the Supernatural fandom, but on last check never in the IT fandom. It's mine now!
> 
> There is some mild horror with a sexual undertone in the first section. It's based on (book) canon and no worse than what you'd find there, but if you'd prefer to skip that bit you can do so without affecting the rest of the story too much.
> 
> Please take note of the "forced outing" tag, and proceed or backbutton as appropriate.

There was blood in his mouth, but he didn’t know whose.

That was the first thing he knew. The second was that he couldn’t see. Someone had stuffed his eyes with cotton wool. They did that when you were dead, to fill the space the eyes had once occupied. Or used to, until someone had invented eye caps, which fixed the lids in place with spikes. He was grateful that they hadn’t used eye caps, but he hated the dark.

His mouth was filled with cotton wool too. He thought that was probably to stem the flow of blood erupting from his smashed chest. But perhaps it wasn’t his blood, perhaps it was someone else’s, because it didn’t taste like his own. The cotton was making his mouth dry, and although he was dead he thought he’d like a drink to rinse the scrim of foreign-notforeign blood from his tongue. With his ruined lungs he called out for water.

_‘Eddie?’_

It was a voice from a dream, so Eddie ignored it. He called out again. Something moved in the darkness ahead.

_‘Hey, Eds. Are you awake?’_

He tried to sit up but was met by an agony so extreme it paralysed him. It came, not from his chest or ruined viscera, but his back. Every nerve of Eddie’s upper vertebrae flared like Christmas lights, sending a current charging down his right arm to the tips of his fingers. He screamed through his cotton-stuffed throat. 

_‘Hey, nurse. Nurse!’_

The thing that had been ahead of him was now beside. He sensed rather than saw its cold shadow fall across him, and understood from this the size of it. It leaned over, and he smelled the taint of its breath. Eddie was reminded of a large carnivorous creature preparing to feed. He screamed again.

_‘Sir, you need to calm down or you’ll have to leave. Help me hold him.’_

The creature gripped Eddie’s shoulders, pinning him to the ground. Its wet, stinking breath was on his face. He sobbed with pain and terror. 

_‘Edward, try to be still. I know it hurts. I’m going to give you some medicine to make the pain go away and help you sleep.’_

Medicine. The word lit up in Eddie’s brain like fireworks, and he knew what it was that crouched on his chest.

‘Take your medicine,’ the hobo-leper-mother crooned. Eddie didn’t need his eyes to see the pill, white and clean, pinched between the thing’s oozing fingers. ‘Take your medicine, Eddie Bear, and I’ll blow you for free.’

The thing forced Eddie’s teeth apart, thrusting its fingers into his mouth. He gagged against the taste of corrupted flesh. He felt the pill fall against his open throat, making him choke. There was a sharp stabbing pain in his arm that didn’t seem to be connected to anything. The creature was gone, and it was not cotton in his mouth, but soil. Fouled soil, and blood. Then the roof caved in and he knew nothing more. 

***

**AUGUST**

Richie lurched from a dream he was already forgetting with the sense that somebody had called his name. 

Blinking sleep from his eyes he looked around the room, recognising objects not from the indistinct outlines his prescription allowed, but sheer familiarity. Watery yellow light filtered through the blinds, casting patterns across the humped bed sheet, and the bleary circle of a face that peered back. 

‘I don’t know how,’ said Eddie in a voice rough with disuse. ‘But I know you’re somehow responsible for this.’

Richie bolted upright in the plastic chair that had been his bed these past few nights. His neck cracked audibly, and he winced. He scooped up his glasses from where they’d fallen into his lap during the night, and squashed them onto his face. Eddie came into focus.

‘Hey, sleeping beauty,’ said Richie. ‘You’re looking gorgeous this morning.’

Eddie’s skin was grey and slack, except around the eyes where a mauve tint gave him the look of a skinny man who’d gone a couple of rounds with a professional boxer. His hair was stuck up on one side, nasty with lack of washing. Objectively speaking, he looked gross. Subjectively – and Richie was all about the subjective – he looked fucking awesome.

‘I think you’re making fun of me.’ Eddie’s voice was distant, sleepy, not at all cross. He tried to rub his eyes, looking confused when he failed to complete the action. 

‘I am,’ said Richie, although he wasn’t, not really. ‘But you’re high as a kite and it’s not having the effect I was after. How are you feeling?’

‘High as a kite, now you mention it.’ Eddie stared at his useless hands as though they had personally betrayed him. Then he noticed the IV. ‘Am I sick?’

‘You have been. Like, for real this time. Not a Sonia Kaspbrak special.’ Richie watched Eddie taking in the hospital room, the proofs of his illness gathered all around. When his eyes fell on the flowers his nose wrinkled.

‘I’ve got allergies,’ he said with a little downturn of the mouth. Richie smiled, pleased by the flicker of (admittedly grating) personality emerging from the sea of heavy narcotics.

‘You do not,’ he disagreed affably. ‘You’re forgetting we were kids together. You’re only allergic because you want to be.’

‘Yeah, well.’ Eddie settled back into his pillow, looking satisfied with himself. ‘People should respect it anyway. They fucking stink.’

He was right. A few years ago Richie’s dad had gone into hospital to have a tumour removed from his larynx. Then as now, the smell of wilting flowers combined with the tang of antiseptic filled Richie with a shapeless sense of grief. ‘I’ll throw away the flowers,’ he said. The others wouldn’t mind.

Eddie was rocking back and forth on the bones of his ass, like one of those round-bottomed kindergarten toys. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Richie asked, bemused.

‘I think I’ve got a catheter in,’ said Eddie. He sounded thrilled. ‘Will you look?’

‘The fuck I will. What if the nurse walks in and I’m there checking out your dick? You’re not exactly _compos mentis_ right now and I’m in enough trouble with the law as it is.’

‘Hm,’ hummed Eddie, still rocking. ‘Well, it feels very funny. Why are you in trouble with the law?’

‘I kind of split a guy’s head open with an axe, remember?’ Richie tasted bile, as he did each time he thought of the impending court case. Say what you wanted, but Eddie being on death’s door had proved a handy, if not exactly welcome, distraction. He’d been more or less assured it was a clear case of self-defence, and the investigating officer had asked him for an autograph. Not that that assured him: Richie was under no allusions about the intellectual calibre of his fanbase. Assurances or not, it was fucking horrible, and playing havoc with his anxiety. Last week he had bitten the bullet and upped his dosage. His physician would bawl him out when she found out, but she was way away in Cali, so fuck her. 

‘Oh, yeah.’ Eddie’s hand floated dreamily to his cheek. He touched the stitches there. ‘Fuck. Ow? That hurts?’

‘No shit.’ Richie watched Eddie knead his face. ‘You probably shouldn’t do that.’

‘No shit,’ said Eddie in a tone heavy with irony. His dull eyes wandered around the room. ‘How’d I end up here anyway? It’s sort of fuzzy.’

‘Well, it wasn’t that raging glory hole in your face that you keep sticking your finger in. Seriously, stop that. You really can’t remember?’ Richie heard the fear in his own voice. Since Ben, Beverly and Bill had left the state he’d been waiting for the amnesia to kick back in, and although they hadn’t discussed it, he knew Mike was worried too. Perhaps moreso. Poor fucking Mike. So far, no dice. 

‘I remember you were in the deadlights. Then you were on the ground and I –.’ Eddie’s eyes snapped to Richie’s with a sudden, confused look 

‘Then that thing tried to turn you into a human shish kabob, yeah,’ said Richie. He watched the confused look on Eddie’s face fade. His tongue worked the still-rough edge of his chipped incisor, a new nervous habit he’d have to be careful of. He watched Eddie raise his hand to his chest and rub a circle just below his heart. 

‘But it – didn’t?’

‘No, otherwise you wouldn’t be here now.’ Cold sweat prickled Richie’s armpits. The alkaline taste in his mouth had become more pronounced. ‘It kind of – skidded, I guess? The claw, I mean. Made hamburger out of your right shoulder. You were lucky: half an inch to the left and you’d have been paralysed. That’s what the surgeon said.’

‘Funny sort of luck,’ said Eddie. He was still rubbing his chest. ‘My arm feels weird.’

‘You’re still strapped up from the surgery and there’s nerve damage. Nothing major, but you’ll probably be dealing with the side-effects for the rest of you life. Tingling, numbness, that sort of thing. And – well, you got sepsis. Serves you right for playing water sports with raw sewage and two open wounds.’ Richie had been grateful for the diversion of the dry medical details of Eddie’s sickness; now he realised he was perilously close to tears. 

‘And you’ve been here all this time?’ Eddie’s hand stopped circling, poised over his own heart. 

‘Me and Mike. We’ve been taking turns.’ Richie licked his dry lips. ‘Don’t flatter yourself though. Neither of us is allowed to leave Maine.’

‘You’re not – oh, the axe thing. What about the others? Are they…?’

‘They’re fine. Everyone got out. They hauled ass soon as they could.’ Richie regretted it the instant he said it. ‘They all had personal bullshit that needed like, immediate attention. Bill’s marriage, Bev’s divorce. I think Ben would have stayed but he needed to be there for Beverly. Oh, good news while you’ve been out: they’re boning now.’

‘Good for her,’ said Eddie with conspicuous approval. A shadow crossed his face. He touched his left hand, feeling for the ring that wasn’t there. 

‘We haven’t told Myra,’ said Richie quickly. ‘Like – we didn’t know what the right thing to do was, so we sort of made some omissions when you were admitted. And your ring is still in the bushes at Derry Townhouse. Sorry.’

‘Yeah, that may have been for the best.’ Eddie’s face had lost its serenity, gone rigid with worry as though the morphine had evaporated from his body all at once. ‘Oh, god, she’s going to throw a fit when she sees me. Fuck.’

‘We could pretend you died,’ said Richie. He saw the undeniable appeal of the idea register on Eddie’s face before he shut it down.

‘Fuck, no. I need my medical insurance. Speaking of which –.’

‘It’s sorted,’ interrupted Richie. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘Dude, you can’t – actually, you know what, I can’t. Not now.’ Eddie lay back and shut his eyes, suddenly exhausted. Richie gazed at the tender violet lids, the shadows his lashes cast across his grey cheek. ‘I’m pretty thirsty. Could you get me a glass of water?’

Richie tore his eyes away. ‘I can get you ice chips. Would you like ice chips?’ He suddenly needed to be out of the room. When Eddie nodded his head he felt an awful sense of relief. He stood, gathered up the dying flowers, and shoved them in the trash. He allowed himself one last, brief look at Eddie’s face, then left. 

In the corridor he pressed his forehead up against the cool wall, dragging in deep breaths. His heart fluttered like a panicked bird. Ignoring the urge to curl up on the floor, he went to fetch ice, then changed his mind and found a vending machine instead. He shoved dollar bills into the slot and hit buttons until he ran out of cash. Pockets full of candy bars, he took the elevator down to the exit and walked out. He wandered the hospital grounds, wishing for a place to buy cigarettes and making do with lungfuls of plain air instead. He ate a Hershey’s, then threw it up behind a dumpster. After that he felt better. He headed back.

‘You were a long time,’ said Eddie when he returned. His face was gaunt with anxiety. Richie’s stomach heaved guiltily. 

‘Ice machine was broken so I had to look for another.’ He placed the container on the side. ‘Also I got candy.’

‘Am I even allowed to eat that?’ asked Eddie, watching Richie empty his pockets with a hungry expression. Richie shrugged.

‘If you want? Doctor’d probably say no but I’ve not even told him you’re awake yet.’

‘You should.’ Eddie sounded unconvinced, and Richie took that as permission to carry on. He wanted Eddie to himself for as long as he could get him. 

‘Ice first,’ he said, pulling his chair up to the bed. ‘You want help?’

‘If you don’t mind.’ Eddie’s pale cheeks coloured. Richie swallowed the tender feeling that rose in his throat. He selected an ice chip from the container and, refusing to think too closely, slipped it into Eddie’s mouth.

‘Fuck, that’s good.’ The chip clicked against Eddie’s teeth as he pushed it around with his tongue. He gave Richie a narrow look. ‘You okay? This is about the time you’d usually be offering me something hotter or bigger or whatever to stick in my mouth.’

Richie’s face warmed. ‘Um. Is this really the place?’

‘Never bothered you before.’ Eddie opened his mouth to accept another piece of ice. He sucked on it. ‘I’m sorry, this is pathetic. I can’t believe I need help eating ice.’

‘It’s okay. I want to help.’ Richie dabbed Eddie’s wet chin with his sleeve, and found himself blushing again. He’d little experience with genuine intimacy, and this caring intimacy, this maternal intimacy, was entirely new. He pulled a face, wondering if that word – maternal – had occurred to Eddie as well. 

After a while Eddie had had enough. He stared at the far wall, jaw working, sleep-bruised eyelids slung at midpoint. ‘I’m sorry if I upset you earlier,’ he said, crunching. ‘I haven’t forgotten what happened before, if that’s what you thought. At the Townhouse, I mean.’

‘Uh,’ said Richie. He couldn’t speak, his heart filled his mouth.

‘You can, if you want.’

Richie didn’t let himself question it, he just kissed him. Eddie’s mouth was rough and tasted faintly metallic. The ice had left it as cold as that of a corpse. He pulled away, then moved in again. Eddie’s lips parted. Richie understood, in some obscure way, that if he could only warm Eddie’s mouth then everything would be all right. 

‘Okay,’ said Eddie, gently disentangling Richie’s fingers from his gown. ‘That’s enough.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Richie backed away. 

‘Don’t be. It’s not you. But I’ve been a shitty enough husband as it is. I don’t want to make it worse than it’s already going to be.’

Worse for who, exactly? thought Richie. He could not drag his eyes from the face of the man he had lost once, then nearly lost again. ‘I love you,’ he said, helpless with it. Then, because there was nothing else to say apart from that, he said it again. ‘I love you.’

Eddie tugged Richie down and kissed the crown of his head. Richie stayed there, burying his face in Eddie’s chest, heartsick and overwhelmed with gratitude. It took a long time for him to raise his head again, and by the time he did, Eddie had fallen asleep. 

***

**NOVEMBER**

‘Four months is no time at all though!’

‘Always the risk analyst, never the romantic.’ Over the rim of his wine glass Richie was giving Eddie one of his dry looks, half-mocking but with something else in it. Eddie turned away. 

‘Yeah, maybe. Still. The least Bev could do is give me the name of her lawyer.’

‘I’m not sure how much difference it would make. You _did_ tell Myra you fucked someone.’

‘I did not, I said I _slept_ with someone,’ said Eddie primly. ‘Myra’s not the sort of woman you say fucked to.’ He took a big gulp of his drink in an effort to drown the memory. Fucked, slept with or otherwise, it was a conversation he’d hoped never to have again. Unfortunately it was the one detail the divorce lawyers seemed really interested in. 

‘I’m still not convinced it counts as adultery if you don’t come.’ Richie’s tone suggested he thought he was offering great pearls of wisdom. 

‘I wish it were that easy,’ Eddie mumbled unhappily, taking another big mouthful of wine. ‘Going by that logic, you could argue Myra and I never consummated our marriage.’

Richie did an actual spit-take, something Eddie hadn’t thought was a real thing until this year. Then he threw back his head and laughed. The fire-pit lit his teeth, the chipped incisor Eddie had yet to find the courage to ask him about. 

‘Wow, Eddie,’ gasped Richie, pinching tears from his eyes. ‘That’s so sad. Have you ever actually successfully brought anyone off?’

‘Don’t laugh,’ Eddie begged, blushing with shame. ‘It’s not funny. I shouldn’t have said it.’

‘It’s so fucking funny. You’ve always been good value, but god.’ Richie’s eyes crossed over him. ‘Oh, come on. Your marriage sucked and now she’s taking you to the fucking cleaners. You’re allowed to be a bit mean. It’s therapy.’

‘It’s the only therapy I can afford right now.’ He examined his empty glass. ‘That, and the open bar. You want topping up?’

He took the long way around to the bar, although it was November in rural Nebraska and there was a ferrous smell of approaching snow in the air. His dress shoes skittered on the frost-sleeked dirtpath; a half second later he was on his ass. ‘Fuck off,’ he snarled into the bitter air. ‘Who the fuck has a winter wedding in a fucking barn, anyway?’ He checked to make sure no one had seen him, but there was only the bleached face of the fall moon. He got up and brushed the seat of his pants. The glasses were unscathed. For some reason this annoyed him more and he raised his arm to hurl them off the path, then stopped himself. What the fuck?

By the time he reached the bar his shoulder was aching with cold. It was a cute little one-storey made of old stone. At one end was a burning log fire. Unable to resist the opportunity to warm up, he bypassed the bar and made for the leather chairs surrounding it. 

‘Oh, hey.’ Eddie hadn’t noticed Mike until he sat down. He’d missed him most of the day, and although he’d been looking forward to speaking to him properly he now felt awkward and uncertain. He rubbed his arm.

‘Hey yourself,’ said Mike, taking note of the movement. ‘How’s that holding up?’ 

‘Good as can be expected. The cold gets to it.’ He flexed his fingers, still unused to the lack of feeling in them. ‘What about yourself?’

‘Same, I guess: as good as can be expected.’ Mike grinned in a way that suggested otherwise. ‘All I’ll say is, if you’re going to get yourself wrapped up in a murder investigation, make sure your buddy is rich, white, and famous. Works a treat.’ 

Eddie smiled painfully. He was never sure how to respond when Mike made remarks like this, and was certain Mike knew it. ‘You’ll be moving on soon then?’ he asked, redirecting into territory he was marginally more comfortable with.

‘Right after this is over. This is the first stop of the great Mike Hanlon Gets the Fuck Out of Derry Tour. Next up: South America.’

‘I thought you wanted to go to Florida?’ Eddie’s brain was already weighing up the risks. Poorly maintained mountain roads, kidnappers, Zika virus… well, maybe not that one, Mike’s chances of pregnancy looking pretty slim. 

‘Florida will be there when I get back. I’m not going to make any decisions right away. Going to look around, take in the world a bit, work out what it is I like. Collect some stories. I’ve been thinking about writing a book. Local history, maybe, legends, cryptozoology – something like that. I’m pretty qualified these days.’

‘I bet. Whatever you do though, don’t ask Bill for tips. I love the guy, but I read all his books while I was in hospital, and the guy’s a hack.’

‘Tell me about it,’ said Mike with a laugh. ‘Librarian, remember? Ex-librarian, now.’ Whatever he said, Mike looked a hell of a lot better than good as can be expected. Eddie was suddenly envious of him though god, if any of them had earned a little happiness, it was Mike. Still, imagine just being able to go like that. Go, and not be worried. 

‘I’m happy for you,’ he said, meaning it. ‘You deserve it.’

‘I’m sorry you’re not having such a great time yourself,’ said Mike. Then, as though the two thoughts were connected, ‘You been with Richie?’

‘I was just fetching us drinks.’ Eddie felt himself folding up, presenting the tough parts of himself like an armadillo or a porcupine. He didn’t want to talk about Richie. 

‘You know, he really looked after you in the hospital. I was surprised. I’d never really seen that side of him before.’

‘There’s a lot people don’t know about Richie, I think,’ said Eddie, standing up. One side of his face felt scorched by the fire. ‘You were both great. I’m grateful to both of you.’

Without waiting for Mike’s response he made his way to the bar. While ordering he spotted Ben and Beverly together, chatting with her friend Kay. Beverly looked incredible in an asymmetric dress and white jacket made of some furry material. Her cheeks were pink with drink and pleasure. Ben gazed at her, openly glowing. 

_Four months,_ thought Eddie, and felt his heart twist. _Four months, and twenty-seven years._

Beverly caught his eye and waved him over. He shook his head, smiling, holding up the glasses by way of explanation. Not much of an explanation.

It was difficult to admit even to himself that he was envious of Beverly. It was only recently that he had learned the parallel lines their lives had taken. One dead parent, the other abusive, and the unhappy marriages built on the foundations these things created. Yet where Eddie foundered Beverly sailed unfaltering, eyes locked on target. This in spite of the fact that Beverly, so far as Eddie was concerned, had had it worse. To put it simply: Beverly made him feel inferior. He hated it. Hated that, in his heart of hearts, he knew he resented her a little. Hated what a shitty friend that made him, what a shitty person. 

He’d admitted it to Richie once. They called one another regularly, two or three times a week. Richie was the only person he could ever say it to but even then it had taken an especially low mood and a couple of drinks to open up like that. Richie, who was nothing like the callous dumbass he played ninety-nine per cent of the time, had reminded him that childhood trauma wasn’t a competition. That recovery didn’t come with a time limit, after which point you failed. That Eddie, even if he wasn’t doing it as fast as he would like, was nevertheless moving forward. Richie had been very serious, almost unRichielike if you didn’t know him better, and plainly offended that Eddie dared even think like this. ‘You’re doing so well, man,’ he told him across an entire continent and a three hour time difference. ‘I’m so fucking proud of you.’ Eddie had started to cry, made some excuse, and hung up. The memory made him tear up with gratitude even now. 

Outside, the air was cold and clean as iron. Eddie breathed until his lungs ached.

‘About time, buddy,’ said Richie when he saw him. ‘I’m fucking parched.’

‘Sorry, got talking to Mike.’ Eddie passed him his drink. A moment ago he’d been keyed up and upset; now, setting eyes on Richie’s anxious face, he felt suffused with an uncomplicated warmth. He nudged in alongside, touching their knees together. He saw Richie’s face register surprise. 

‘He tell you about his Great Latin Pussy Tour? I got that just before the ceremony.’ Richie took a big swig of his drink. He seemed edgy, and his eyes kept returning to their touching knees. ‘Hey, I’m sorry about laughing before. The Myra thing.’

‘It was my fault. I shouldn’t have said what I said. It was a fucking asshole thing to say.’

‘Yeah but like, you asked me to stop.’ Eyes twitching to their knees, then away again. ‘Also, uh. It’s sort of my fault, too?’ 

Eddie pressed his knee harder, felt Richie shiver. ‘It’s just… you know, I know she looks a bit like my mother, but she isn’t. Nobody forced me to marry her. It was – my mom had just died, and it seemed like the easiest thing to do. It was a cage, but I walked into it with my eyes wide open.’ 

‘That sounds like a simplification, Eds.’

Eddie nodded. ‘It is. But, like, it wasn’t just that she was bad for me. I was bad for her, too. Not being loved properly – that hurts.’ 

In the flickering light Richie’s eyes looked very dark. He appeared like some wild creature in an ancient time, drawn by the warmth of the fire but fearing it, too. Eddie put his hand over their touching knees. Felt Richie startle. Suddenly the way seemed clear. 

‘I don’t think I’m ready for anything else yet,’ said Eddie in a low, calm voice. ‘I don’t want to do what I did to Myra again. But I need you to know that I don’t blame you for anything. Nothing’s your fault. What happened back in Derry, that was important to me. I wouldn’t have gotten out of that cage without it.’ 

‘Eddie.’ Like the word was being dragged from his throat.

‘I’d like to spent tonight with you, if you want it. But not if it’s only going to hurt you. I don’t want you to feel like you’ve been led on.’ 

‘I’d rather have some of you than nothing,’ Richie said in a voice Eddie didn’t recognise. He looked straight at him with that edgy, wild look. 

‘I need you to mean that.’

‘I do mean it. I want you whichever way you’ll let me have you.’ Richie lay his hand over Eddie’s. ‘Please.’

That please took the air from Eddie’s lungs. Any hesitance that remained vanished in an instant. He saw Richie’s eyes flick to his mouth. Eddie stood, pulling Richie with him. 

‘Where to?’ asked Richie. Eddie could feel him shaking.

‘Your cabin’s closer,’ said Eddie. They were already on borrowed time. Every second counted. 

By the time they reached his cabin Richie was near vibrating. They passed Ben on the way, who made the mistake of attempting to speak to Richie. Richie made some garbled remark about his stupid cowboy boots and carried on his way. 

‘They are pretty stupid,’ agreed Eddie, closing the door behind them. ‘But if Ben was only half sure we were having sex at the Townhouse before he’s going to be one hundred per cent certain now, based on that fucking colossal overreaction you just had. Jesus.’

‘That man’s got the nose of a coonhound for illicit gay fucking. I’m telling you, if he gets in the way like last time I won’t be responsible for my actions. I already put an axe through one head. I don’t care that it’s his wedding.’ 

Eddie didn’t know what to think of that. Richie was gay, that had been established, but he felt ambivalent about having the term applied to himself. Okay, perhaps there wasn’t a better way of describing what they were about to do, but still. Fresh out of an eleven year marriage, the only things that Eddie was certain of were a) he had never been attracted to Myra, and b) he was absolutely, definitely attracted to Richie. Two poles he wasn’t prepared to hang an entire sexual identity on just yet. 

Whatever. Now was not the time for an identity crisis. Beside him, Richie was trembling so violently Eddie could feel it through the floorboards. He seemed paralysed with – not fear, exactly, but a worry that he’d misread the situation. Eddie knew he’d have to be the one to act. Putting his palm up against the rough edge of Richie’s jaw, he brought his face down for a kiss. 

That did it. Like a slipped hound, Richie turned Eddie, crowding him up against the door. Eddie could feel the grain of the wood in his back. He thrilled at Richie’s size, the breadth of him, felt charged with a pleasure that was not unlike fear. 

‘Fuck, Eds.’ Richie’s mouth moved down Eddie’s throat, arching his back. ‘I’ve wanted you so much.’

Richie’s hands slid under his ass, lifting him so their groins were level. His cock jammed into the crease of Eddie’s thigh. Eddie felt at once desired, vulnerable, powerful. 

‘I like this,’ he said into his mouth. ‘But it’s kind of hurting my shoulder.’

‘Shit, sorry.’ Richie pulled back. A flash of disappointment passed through Eddie. ‘Um. What about the bed?’

‘That might be best.’ Eddie hadn’t thought about it till now, how his injury might affect this. Once it wouldn’t have mattered. Now it seemed very important.

‘I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t think.’ 

Eddie realised with surprise that Richie was upset. A great surge of affection heaved up in him, like a spring tide. He lay a hand on Richie’s chest. 

‘Don’t worry about it, it wasn’t that bad.’ That wasn’t strictly true, but he knew that if he didn’t nip it in the bud now Richie would spend the rest of the night working himself up about it and they wouldn’t get anything done. Which wouldn’t do at all. ‘Get on the bed.’ 

Eddie tried very hard not to think about how many other people must have slept on this mattress, must have fucked on it. He tried not to think about bedbugs. But when he swung himself onto Richie’s lap and put his arms around his neck, he knew he was motivated in part by the idea that Richie might act as a sort of shield between him and the sheets. That wasn’t fair to Richie, plus it was some dubious logic. Richie was pretty grubby by himself, after all. A nice sort of grubby, though. 

‘You looked good today,’ said Eddie, meaning it. He tweaked the suit jacket that had made Richie’s shoulders the bane of his afternoon. 

‘Your dick thinks so too,’ Richie grinned, grinding up. Eddie tilted his face and Richie took the offer. They kissed for a long while and when Richie turned him over onto the sheets, Eddie didn’t worry about it at all. 

‘What do you want?’ asked Richie in a low, breathless voice. ‘I’ll do whatever you want me to.’

What Eddie wanted was to turn up the lights so he could see Richie’s face clearly. He knew that Richie would do it if he asked, but he would be miserable. Richie, whose day job involved standing up in front of hundreds of people at a time, who was famous enough to get papped on a semi-regular basis, had a horror of being seen. Eddie felt suddenly, terribly sad. He kissed the beloved face as though kisses might heal self-hatred. 

‘Maybe we should pick up where we left off,’ he said between kisses. But, um, do you have the stuff?’

‘There’s a rubber in my wallet but it’s been in there since the Lewinsky scandal, so I can’t promise I wouldn’t get pregnant.’

Eddie was gratified that Richie didn’t point out that the last time they found themselves in this situation they hadn’t used anything at all, and that it had been Eddie’s decision, no less. At the time it had felt important, but whatever the point was had been made, and Eddie had reverted to type. 

‘Um,’ said Eddie. 

‘I can suck you off, if you like?’ suggested Richie. His tone implied Eddie would be doing him an enormous favour if he agreed. 

‘If you must.’ Eddie did his best to sound put-upon. Richie laughed into his mouth. 

‘Okay, clothes off.’ 

‘Hang that up there,’ said Eddie, passing over his jacket. Richie made a show of pretending to throw it on the floor. ‘Do it and the only dick you’ll be eating is your own regrets.’ 

‘No one every utilises the comic value of my diminutive. That’s why none of you guys ever made it as comedians.’ 

‘You never made it as a comedian. Comedians are funny.’

‘I thought I was sucking you off, not getting roasted? Here, get your pants off and pass them over while I’m still standing.’

Eddie shuffled out of his slacks. ‘You mind if I leave my shirt on?’ he asked. 

He saw Richie’s eyes go to his shoulder, then move hastily away again. ‘Sure, I don’t need reminding of that huge menstruating vagina in your back while I’m trying to get off. Once was enough.’

‘Jesus, Rich.’ In spite of himself, Eddie started to laugh. ‘You’re so fucking gross.’

‘All I’m saying is that you already provided enough dick-killing material for a lifetime. Next time I get hard watching military recruitment videos I’m gonna think about your shoulder pussy.’

‘Dude!’

Richie was laughing now too. Eddie understood suddenly that he was relieved about the shirt thing. Eddie had been so preoccupied by his own discomfort it hadn’t occurred to him that Richie might have his own feelings about it. He’d been the one to drag Eddie out of the sewer, after all. He’d been the one who wrecked his jacket stemming the wound. 

‘I’m sorry about your jacket, man.’

‘It was my favourite,’ Richie said in a sober voice and Eddie knew that the thing he had tried to say, but couldn’t, had nevertheless been understood.

Richie kneeled behind Eddie. He slipped a hand in the front of his shirt, stopping at a point just below his heart. The other arm came round to stroke the notch in Eddie’s cheek. He held him like this for an immeasurable length of time, mouth tucked into the space between Eddie’s neck and shoulder, breath warm and moist. Eddie tilted into the big body that enveloped him, lax with contentment. Outside a slippery wind leaned its flank on the cabin’s timbers. Sidelong snow ticked the windows. 

By the time Richie laid him out on the bedspread Eddie was half asleep. At curious distance he observed Richie part his legs, take him into his mouth. He stroked Eddie’s thighs while he sucked, bringing up gooseflesh. Eddie spoke just once, to warn Richie when he was about to come. He heard the click of Richie’s throat when he swallowed. Once, Eddie would have found that repulsive; now, he felt simply warm, broken open and loved. A feeling as foreign as the surface of the moon. He brought Richie up, kissed his wet mouth, and that was strange, too. He stroked Richie while he kissed him and he came quickly, with a little sob that he buried in Eddie’s collarbone. 

Afterwards they dozed. When Eddie woke his skin was crusted with dried semen. At some point while they slept Richie had crawled on top of him. He was big and heavy, but although it was uncomfortable Eddie felt strangely protected. It was with some reluctance he moved out from under him. He showered and dressed, padding around the room in his bare feet while Richie snored on the bed. When Eddie slid his glasses off a faint, discontented expression spread over his face. It vanished when Eddie kissed his temple, and when he left, Richie didn’t stir at all. 

***

Richie woke in a room luminous with snowlight, with the sense that he’d had a pleasant but forgotten dream. 

He scrubbed around for his glasses, finding them folded away on the side table. His head hurt only a little, which was rare, and he was suffused with a vague contented feeling, which was rarer. 

The snow which had lit his room had worked its transformative magic outside too, white-capped branches etched into the glazed sky, distant plains glittering like mica. But it had been a long while since Richie had had to contend with this type of weather and by the time he reached the breakfast room he was shivering with cold. Beverly was smoking on the little patio outside, wrapped in a puffy teal-coloured coat with a single bare, goosefleshed leg visible. Yesterday’s tastefully applied make-up had gone distinctly Robert Smith overnight, and her unpinned hair made a red dandelion around her face. She shone with happiness.

‘Do you ever look like shit?’ asked Richie, setting himself down. Beverly smiled. She passed him the cigarette he was already holding his hand out for, dabbing the end with her own. 

‘I’ll take that as the compliment you intended it to be,’ she said. ‘I’m getting a mimosa, you want one?’

Why not. She leaned through the door and mimed the order, then budged back in alongside him. ‘Jesus, you’re shaking like a leaf.’

‘That’s because my asshole friends insisted on having their wedding outdoors in the middle of November.’ 

She kicked him with her bare toes. The waiter arrived with the drinks. Richie had noticed him at the ceremony yesterday; he was small and put-together in a way he’d always liked. Their eyes caught, then Richie looked away. 

‘You were raised in Maine. I assumed you wouldn’t need telling to pack a decent coat.’

‘I _escaped_ Maine. I went somewhere _warm_. Nebraska isn’t escape, it’s purgatory. Nobody lives in Nebraska.’

‘Ben lives in Nebraska. I live in Nebraska, now.’ 

‘So that’s two whole people. What do you do for fun? Go cow-tipping together? At least Chicago had civilisation.’ 

‘If it were remotely realistic I’d never see Chicago again.’ Beverly took a sharp pull on her cigarette, blew a long blue trail into the frosty air. Richie wanted to kick himself. He patted her cold pink knee instead. 

‘Sorry, Bev. You’re right, Nebraska’s awesome.’ He threw back his mimosa. ‘Where is the shiny new husband anyway?’

‘Running, would you believe.’ She pulled a face. ‘With _Eddie_.’ 

Richie’s heart gave a funny little throb. He felt his face go pink in a way he wasn’t sure he could explain away with the cold. ‘Freaks,’ he said.

‘I know, right? Healthy fuckers. Let’s drink and smoke some more.’

They did, calling for more mimosas, lighting more cigarettes. Settled down into a habit neither had quite forgotten. They’d done this at school together, smoking under the bleachers, talking sometimes but just as often not. Slotting into place, like a book on a shelf. Richie sensed, in the semi-clairvoyant way of old friends, that Beverly had something she wanted to say. 

‘Bev?’

‘The deadlights. What did you see in them?’

‘Funny sort of conversation for the day after your wedding.’ He was avoiding the question, knew Beverly knew it too. 

‘Richie.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He held his hand out and she passed him another cigarette. ‘I don’t know what I can say that you don’t already know.’

‘So you saw them die too.’ She fumbled the cigarette she was trying to light, plucked it up off the wet snow. 

‘No.’ Richie wondered at the silence surrounding them. He’d forgotten how snow did that, swallowed the small noises, created the sense of a vacuum like when your ears pop on an airplane. ‘Not them. Just – him.’

‘Eddie.’

‘Yes.’ He didn’t ask her how she knew. He’d been amplifying it his entire life.

‘Did it happen the same way?’ She patted the bit of her abdomen just below the ribcage, under the heart. Richie nodded. 

She reached out for his hand. ‘I’m so sorry, Richie. But it didn’t happen. I don’t know why it didn’t happen?’ Richie didn’t reply. Couldn’t. She continued, ‘Was it something you did? Did you move him?’

Richie realised why it was that Beverly needed to know so badly. He remembered the wedding reception yesterday, the deliberate space left at the table. If Richie had saved Eddie, could Beverly have saved Stan? He felt a deep pain, right in the spot she’d indicated just a moment before. 

‘No, Bev.’ His voice was shaking; he squeezed her hand. ‘I didn’t save him, he saved himself.’

‘How?’

There was no getting past it. ‘He kissed me,’ Richie said. 

‘What?’ 

‘I know, right? I think it – changed the angle, or something? Made the spike bounce off his rib, go off sideways. You saw the state of him. The surgeon said the only thing he’d ever seen like it was when he was working in Texas. In a rodeo clown, believe it or not.’

‘I’m not questioning the _forensic details_ , Richie. He kissed you? Why’d he kiss you?’

‘Because I’m fucking irresistible, I guess?’ said Richie, knowing already that this wasn’t an acceptable answer. He saw Beverly’s mouth form a grim line, and sighed. There was no getting past it. ‘It wasn’t exactly the first time.’

‘ _What?_ ’ Beverly’s tone changed. There was an unmistakable look of dawning glee on her face. 

‘We may have slept together. Just before Eddie got stabbed in the face.’

‘Holy shit.’ Beverly’s eyes were huge blue circles. 

‘So god bless sodomy, I guess?’ 

‘Oh my god.’ Beverly’s face cracked with a brilliant grin. ‘You’re serious? I can’t believe – I mean, I don’t want to be totally prurient about this, but this is seriously the best wedding gift ever! I’m so pleased for you both. I’m so pleased you… _ploughed_ the life back into Eddie?’

‘Well actually it was –.’ Richie slapped his hand over his mouth. Beverly screamed.

‘Oh my god! You need to let me tell Ben. Or tell him yourself. I’ll explode if you don’t.’

‘Um. Ben may already know.’

This elicited an even bigger scream. Richie made a soothing gesture through the window to the hot waiter, who was looking concerned. ‘No. You’re joking.’

‘He… may have sort of walked in. Well, not walked in. Found himself within hearing distance. _Inferred_. He was the one who actually put an end to things.’

‘That _asshole_.’ Richie opened his mouth to agree but Beverly ran right on. ‘I can’t believe he didn’t tell me! Oh, I know, he was respecting your privacy, being a good buddy, blah blah. But what about me, his wife? What about my desire for salacious gossip about my friends? Is that not important too? I can’t believe I’ve been married to him for one whole day and he’s already keeping secrets.’ 

Her cheeks were like red apples, she was grinning so hard.

‘I kind of thought you already knew, to be honest. Like, from before. When we were kids.’

‘That long?’ she asked, no longer laughing. Richie nodded. 

‘Since I was like, twelve, I think. Took me a while to work out what it was but I knew that summer.’

‘Oh, Richie.’ She squeezed his hand with both of hers; the tips of her manicured nails grazed his flesh. 

‘So I got Ben beat.’

‘No wonder Ben kept it quiet. He knows what it’s like.’ 

Richie wasn’t sure that was true. Sure, Ben had known pining, but had he known shame? Self disgust? Then he remembered how fat Ben was back then, how pretty and so apparently out of his league Beverly had been. It wasn’t the same, but perhaps Ben really did understand something of it.

‘I don’t know why you thought I’d know,’ continued Beverly.

Richie shrugged. ‘I dunno. Female intuition?’

‘Oh, please. That’s such horseshit. I didn’t even know about Ben and that was directed at me. Maybe I was ahead of you on the emotional development curve but I’ve got a dog that’s got you beat there. You were both the biggest pair of dumbasses.’ She circled her fingers over his knuckles, forehead creased in thought. ‘But as happens – I think I did know.’

‘Ha, I knew it!’ Richie wasn’t sure exactly what victory he thought he’d won, but he’d take what he could get. 

‘Not because of intuition, dumbass. The deadlights. And after, when we were lost in the sewer… I think I understood then. Then I forgot, of course, until – well. After Eddie was hurt you were just so upset, I think it sort of jolted the memory.’

‘Or I was being that obvious.’ A panel of memory slid into focus. Standing in his shower at the Townhouse after returning from the hospital, sobbing his guts up. Anyone standing outside his room would have heard. 

‘Please don’t. Even if it was obvious, nobody would think any less of you for it.’

‘I know that,’ snapped Richie, and he did. His friends weren’t assholes. But the old fear. You didn’t just shake that shit off. 

‘I’ll not mention it to Ben if you don’t want me to,’ said Beverly. 

Richie took his glasses off, pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘No, it’s fine. It’s probably a traumatic memory for him. He needs someone to talk it over with. A therapist, maybe.’

Beverly was smiling again. She leaned over and embraced him. It was a very squidgy hug. 

‘I’m going to get snot all over your ugly-ass coat.’

‘I designed this coat.’ She put her hand on his chin, angling his face so he was forced to look at her. If this were a movie, he thought, she’d kiss him now. ‘I love you,’ she said instead. ‘We all love you. Thank you for telling me. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for saving Eddie with your big dick.’

He laughed and snuffled into her coat. ‘Now you can get confirmation on those rumours.’

‘I will _not_ ,’ she grimaced. ‘I do not need the visual.’

‘That’s probably for the best, it’d only make you wanna trade in Ben.’ He scrubbed his eyes with his sleeve and settled next to her. ‘Ugh. Although, better not. Mention it, I mean. I kind of didn’t mean to talk about it? And like, I’m not sure Eddie’s cool with it. He’s – well. We’ve talked about it. He’s not ready for anything serious yet. What with the divorce and everything.’

‘Yeah, I guess that makes sense,’ said Beverly, on the morning of her wedding, plainly thinking it made not sense at all. ‘But he loves you?’

In spite of the snow Richie felt himself grow warm. ‘I think so. Like, he said he did. Back at the Townhouse. So, yes. He loves me.’

‘Aw,’ snuffled Beverly. ‘Now _I’m_ crying.’

She was still blotting away tears when they heard crunchy footsteps coming up the footpath. 

‘Hey, guys!’

Ben looked stupidly good, pink-cheeked with exercise, every one of his eighteen abs outlined by the sleek thermal shirt he wore. Richie’s eyes took him in, then slid right past. 

‘Hey, Eds.’ He beamed, pleased to see him, stoked from the memory of the previous night. Then, realising he was coming across as rude, he said, ‘I’m ignoring Ben, he’s too hot and it’s making me feed bad about every one of my lifestyle choices. You, on the other hand, look like a sack of shit.’

‘Tell me about it,’ said Eddie with undisguised outrage. His face was a slick, bright red. ‘Fucker said he’d go easy on me because I’ve not ran since the accident, and not ran in the snow since ever.’ 

Ben looked hurt. ‘I did go easy!’

‘Fuck off, Ben,’ they both chimed. 

‘Aw, baby,’ grinned Beverly. ‘Ignore them. Come here and kiss your wife instead.’

Richie turned his face away, struck by a sudden sense of poignant hurt. He caught Eddie watching him. 

‘Dude, have you been _crying?_ ’ 

‘Fuck no, it’s this weather. I’ve been reprimanding Bev here about her bullshit wedding venue choices. When me and your mom get married, it’s going to be sun, sea, sand and snowballing.’

‘Jesus Christ, Richie,’ said Beverly. Ben looked valiantly dismayed.

‘Fucking good luck with that, she’s been dead twelve years,’ snapped Eddie.

‘The rottener the cushion the sweeter the pushin’,’ grinned Richie.

‘That doesn’t even rhyme!’ screamed Eddie, his voice hitting a pitch it hadn’t known since puberty. Richie caught the hot waiter looking over again and shot him a _he’s mine_ smirk.

‘Ugh, I’ve had enough of this grossness. Ben, sweetheart, let’s get you washed then go get breakfast. Ciao, babes.’ Bev twiddled her fingers over her shoulder, tugging Ben’s arm as she went. He followed as though floating on a cloud. 

‘You think he’s going to be like that forever?’ wondered Richie, watching them go.

‘Ugh, probably. It would be sickening if it weren’t so cute.’ Eddie’s eyes scanned the tabletop. ‘Dude, were you two drinking?’ 

‘Me and the girls, talking smack about our men.’ Richie caught Eddie’s look and rolled his eyes. ‘Dude, we had a couple of mimosas. It’s a fucking wedding.’

‘Probably a better start to your day that mine. Seriously, fuck that guy. He’s like a fucking Terminator. How can one man be allowed so many gifts?’ He took a deep breath of the bright, cold air, then shivered. ‘I’m gonna go get showered before I do a full Jack Nicholson in _The Shining_.’

‘What time’s your flight?’ Richie had the sudden sense of time unravelling, spinning out uncontrollably. 

‘Four. I like to get there a few hours ahead of time and I’ll need to drop off the rental, so I’ll be setting out just after twelve. You need a ride?’

‘Please.’ Richie’s flight wasn’t till eight.

‘I knew you wouldn’t have sorted out your own transport. How’d you even get here?’ 

‘Hopped a ride with Bill and Audra.’ 

‘You’re not travelling back with them?’ Eddie was pulling off his hoodie and it muffled his voice. Richie noted the awkwardness of the movement. He reappeared a moment later, hair at sticky angles ( _adorable_ ), and Richie saw he was wearing an arm support. He was reminded sharply of the cast Eddie had worn after the clown had broken his arm, _LOSER_ made _LOVER_ with a scarlet slash. Richie’s blood had stained the cuff for weeks after. He rubbed the tingling spot on his palm. 

‘We’re on different flights,’ he lied. 

‘Huh. Well, I’ll see you later then.’

Now or never. ‘Um. I could see you now?’

The look Eddie turned on him carried physical weight. Richie gazed back, unable to stop himself, liking him openly. He admired the shape of him in his soft sweatpants and clinging long-sleeve thermal. The bold tendons of his neck, and stupid dimples. His big, dark eyes. 

‘I need to shower.’

‘Yeah,’ said Richie. ‘But after that?’

Turned out there was time for an after. 

***

**CHRISTMAS EVE**

Eddie’s phone lit up with an incoming message as he unpacked groceries.

He didn’t stop what he was doing, didn’t even look. There was only one person who ever texted him at this time of the day, and that person had taken to sending him dickpics. 

Not his own. Two weeks ago Richie had signed up to Grindr under a fake name. Eddie had not known peace since.

It was infuriating enough knowing that Richie had _grown into_ his own self-promotion, so to speak. Knowing that he was also surrounded by (hot, available, sexually profligate) men with the genital dimensions of pachyderms was, quite frankly, the cherry on the turd. He had no desire to see the cherry. Or the turd.

He began to shove his groceries in something less than his normal, neat, infection control-conscious habit (turkey breasts on the bottom of the fridge; greens above; sweet potatoes in the veg bin) then got a hold of himself. It was ridiculous, getting himself worked up like this. It had been his decision, after all. He’d been the one to tell Richie it was a one-time thing (well, one evening and one morning, if you discounted the Townhouse episode entirely). It had been Eddie who’d decided it couldn’t work, what with his ongoing divorce and the years of repression and the entire continent between them. Not to mention Richie’s career kind of pivoting on his douchebag dudebro persona. All in all, not a recipe for domestic gay bliss. Eddie knew this. He ought to be happy Richie was getting lots of elephantine cock. But he wasn’t. He really fucking wasn’t.

And the last thing he needed right now was another dickpic.

They were, he had to admit, sort of intriguing. The last one he’d received had come with the caption _“look what i just landed someone call captain ahab asap x”_ Eddie had thrown his phone across the room. Later he’d slunk shamefully to the shower to jerk off. He’d thought about Richie when he did it, and about the picture, too. Afterwards he deleted it, partly because it was the exact sort of thing Myra’s lawyers would cream themselves over, but mainly because he didn’t feel he could be trusted with it. 

He could simply download Grindr. He was pretty new to this whole thing but he understood enough to know he wouldn’t struggle to find colossal dick of his own. It would get the whole thing over, scratch the itch. Plus, it would help him pass the lonely Christmas period when the siren call of his ruined marriage was at its most powerful. (Thank Christ he’d told her he’d cheated.)

But, deep down, he knew he wouldn’t. There was just too much emotional baggage down there: the infection thing, the anxiety thing, the repression thing. The other day, jacking off in the shower (not the Moby-Dickpic, a different time), he’d found himself actually missing the repression. No one ever had anything nice to say about repression, but it was so easy. Eddie remembered a time when his sex drive moved at approximately the same rate as the tectonic plates. Nowadays he felt sore all the time. And no less horny for it, either. 

He’d made one concession to his burgeoning second puberty. (Well, apart from the dildo. He’d gotten that off the internet then hidden from himself for pretty much the same reason he deleted the photos: he couldn’t be trusted). Not once in Eddie’s life had he made a medical decision based on anything other than meticulous, borderline pathological research. That was, until recently. When he’d had to find himself a massage therapist for his injured shoulder he’d made his usual investigations… then based his decision entirely on the breadth of the guy’s shoulders. As it turned out, sometime-Welsh-rugby-player Rhys was something of a miracle worker when it came to fucked shoulders, but the point stood. Eddie was ashamed. He’d never let his dick choose anything before. The fact it had chosen well was pure chance.

Eddie’s phone lit up again. He ignored it again. Richie had already made him think about dick enough today. Eddie was going to put away his groceries, he was going to make a salad with some kind of complex carb in it – buckwheat, maybe? – and then he was going to down a bottle of Californian Zinfandel, pass out, and do his level best to experience as little of tomorrow as possible.

His phone began to ring. 

‘Jesus Christ, I don’t want to look at any more of your dickpics!’

‘Aw, and on His birthday too,’ pouted Richie.

‘That’s not until tomorrow. What are you calling for?’ Eddie sat down on the couch, tucking his feet up, settling into comfort. ‘You get bored of polluting my eyes and thought you’d start on my ears instead?’

‘I call you every day!’

‘Not at this time, you don’t.’ It had become Richie’s habit to call Eddie a half hour or so before he went to bed. He’d talk crap at him about his day: a dog he saw with a really big butthole, the latest in chemtrails, ‘did you know shark babies are called puppies and they eat each other in the _womb?_ ’ Eddie would interject when he could (‘how the fuck do they ever breed then?’) but mostly he just listened. Bedded in. Richie’s bullshit spiel had become as integral a part of Eddie’s bedtime routine as flossing; with it he was somehow unsettled, incomplete. A few weeks ago Richie hadn’t called and he’d been unable to sleep until he got a text, _“cant spk 2nite, will call tmrw x”_ There was a kiss at the end of all of Richie’s texts, even the dickpics, yet somehow the freedom with which he used them in no way detracted from their purpose. Eddie knew, with each little cross, a real kiss was meant. 

‘I figured given what day it is you may have gone home before eight PM Eastern.’

Eddie made no comment. 

‘Anyway, I thought it would be a nice idea to extend a courtesy call on your first Christmas as a single man. Any big plans?’

Was that relish in Richie’s voice? It was hard to tell. Eddie felt his lip curl with dislike. 

‘Oh, yeah. Myra’s making a turkey, we’re going to her parents’ for the evening. Same old Christmas as every year.’

There was a long pause. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

Eddie rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, I’m fucking kidding. She hates my guts.’ He stood up, paced irritably around the small room. ‘My plans are to get wasted, wake up as late as possible tomorrow, _maybe_ watch a movie, then go back to bed. Hopefully all without crying. There you have it. Do you feel better that at least one of your friends is going to be more pathetic than you are this Christmas? Because I got a whole bunch of miserable Christmas stories I could tell you if you like.’

‘Thank Christ.’

‘The fuck, man?’ Eddie chest went tight with rage. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ He stopped his pacing to rummage around in the drawer where he kept his new inhaler. 

‘I said, thank Christ. I thought you actually meant it for a second. I’m at the airport.’

Eddie’s hand froze over the inhaler. ‘You’re – what?’

‘I’m at JFK.’

‘You – are you working?’ Eddie bit the end of the inhaler but refrained from triggering it. His chest seemed to be relaxing of its own accord. His heart hadn’t got the message though, and continued to hammer.

‘What? Dude, no. Huge public meltdown, remember? I came to see you.’

Eddie bit harder. His jaw ached.

‘Like, surprise you I mean,’ Richie babbled on, uncharacteristically flustered. ‘I mean, if you want? I know what Christmas alone is like.’

‘Um. Huh. I didn’t expect –.’

‘I mean, that’s why it’s a surprise. Because you didn’t expect it. Like, I can go stay in a hotel, I don’t want to interrupt your plans or anything.’

Eddie, who had provided an honest description of his plans (omitting the inevitable, unhappy masturbation), tried to detect sarcasm in this last and found none. All he could hear was another sad man, lonely on Christmas.

‘Dude, of course you can come over.’

‘Oh, cool. Although I was beginning to look forward to my fancy hotel. Real festive, _Home Alone 2_ -style.’

The relief in his voice was palpable.

‘Look, I know you’ve kind of committed yourself now, but wouldn’t you rather spend it with your family?’ asked Eddie. He felt weird, then realised it was excitement. 

‘Nah, my sister’s up in Toronto with her kids and my parents are on the road. I’d rather spend Christmas by myself than in an RV with my dad recounting his best root canal stories.’ This wasn’t entirely fair, thought Eddie, who’d thought Went Tozier pretty awesome when he was a kid. Admittedly, he’d had a pretty low bar for awesome parent. ‘You guys were just as much my family, anyway.’

Eddie weighed the sadness there, put it away for later. ‘You know, literally any of the other guys would have been a better choice. I’m a real fucking sadsack at the moment.’

‘Good. Misery loves company. Anyway, those guys have all got their own people. Bill’s got Audra, Bev and Ben have each other, Mike’s got his alligators. You’re the only lonely person I know.’

‘Caiman,’ said Eddie.

‘What?’

‘Caiman. Mike’s in South America. They have caiman, not alligators.’

‘Since when did you know anything about nature that wasn’t an immediate personal threat?’ 

‘If you ever watched documentaries you’d know things about things,’ Eddie snapped. He was enjoying himself, perhaps for the first time since the holiday season began. ‘And caimans are a threat. I think. They’re pretty little. And cute, for a reptile.’

‘I can see why you’d have an affinity for them,’ said Richie drily. ‘Anyway, I do watch documentaries. Shark Week is a whole week of documentaries.’

‘Shark Week gives me the creeps. I don’t need to know what’s in the ocean. What time do you think you’ll get here?’ Eddie glanced up at the clock, wondering how long it would take him to get the conspicuous element of depression out of his apartment.

‘Um, I was kinda hoping you’d come pick me up?’

There was no getting out of this one. ‘No can do, bro. I haven’t got a car.’

‘Are you kidding? I thought you said you got that giant overcompensation of a vehicle fixed?’

‘You’re one to talk with that ugly fucking rental you had up in Derry. Also, it’s pretty fucking rude to go on about _overcompensation_ with a person you –.’

‘I was referring to your height, Eds, chill out.’ Richie’s smirk was audible.

‘Right,’ said Eddie, fur settling. ‘Well, whatever, no car. It got it fixed, I sold it.’

‘But _why?’_ whined the voice of a man facing up to the prospect of public transport on Christmas Eve.

‘Because I’m fucking paying out of the ass for everything else. Get the fucking horrible subway and get the fuck up here before I change my mind.’

‘Yes sir.’ That audible smirk again.

Eddie didn’t have a mammoth panic attack when he hung up but it was a close thing. When he took the inhaler from his mouth there were toothmarks in it. He cleaned for an hour even though he knew it wasn’t necessary. After that he panicked about the contents of his fridge for the best part of twenty minutes (what _did_ Richie eat apart from burritos and MSG?) before remembering he lived in the most gastronomically diverse city in the world and could probably manage. He found a nice herringbone blanket he still owned and, trying for homely, threw it over his couch. Then he got self-conscious and put it away again. 

After he’d showered off the stink of Lysol and anxiety sweat he spent a chunk of time choosing what to wear. He was obscurely conscious that he was looking for something Richie would think he looked good in; he was aware, also, that he could turn up in a boilersuit and rabbit ears and Richie would still want to fuck him. The diamond focus of Richie’s desire was something he still couldn’t believe, never mind get used to… but he liked it, too.

(Not that they were going to have sex again. It was a one time – okay, three time – thing.)

He eventually decided on his only pair of jeans and an old but serviceable bottle-green sweater. It was an outfit he had worn at some godawful teambuilding retreat, in another life. A guy from the pensions department had hit on him, and Eddie had run a mile. That made it his only outfit that he’d (almost) got lucky in that wasn’t a) a wedding suit, or b) in Derry District Hospital’s biohazardous waste stream.

Before he could second guess himself again he threw on his grey wool coat, hat and scarf, sent off a brusque text, and set off. 

He’d not left himself much time to get into the station and had to walk quickly. He’d been waiting only a couple of minutes, was only beginning to get anxious about all the potential pathogens and muggers circulating, when a train pulled up and a familiar figure emerged.

‘Hey babe!’ Richie grinned. Eddie blinked. Babe was new.

‘Hey.’ Eddie surprised in himself the urge to kiss him, which he restrained more by the apprehension of Richie’s recent travelling than its _total fucking inappropriateness_. He felt his face go hot. 

‘Look at you with your pink cheeks and you little woolly hat. Cute, cute, cute!’ Richie reached forward and, astonishingly, _pinched Eddie’s cheek_. Eddie felt a decades-old fury boil up.

‘Do that again and you’ll spend Christmas in the ER,’ he hissed. 

‘Please. I know you’re ripped but you’re the size of my pinkie. I’d kick your ass.’ Richie put an arm around Eddie’s shoulder, moving him toward the subway steps. Eddie bristled, but allowed himself to be led. The weight of Richie’s arm felt good and it was fine, right? Friends put their arms around each other all the time. 

‘Fuck, why do all my friends live in subarctic conditions?’ complained Richie when they exited the station. A light, prickling rain had set up since Eddie had arrived, and a skein of fog meandered between pedestrian feet, setting its belly in the low gutter. Richie jammed his free hand still deeper into his pocket. The other remained slung across Eddie’s shoulders.

‘Didn’t you live here for five years?’ asked Eddie. ‘Serve you fucking right for being a dipshit who doesn’t know how to pack for different climates.’ Eddie reached around to pluck Richie’s flimsy jacket, a motion that made it so they were practically embracing. The jacket was almost an exact replica of the one Richie had ruined saving Eddie’s life. He left its arm where it was. 

‘Okay. This is nice, but –.’ Richie removed his arm, put his hand in his pocket. He looked embarrassed and vulnerable. 

‘I know. Too much.’ Eddie slipped his hands back into his pockets. ‘Come on.’

Eddie resumed his fast pace on the return journey. He could hear Richie huffing behind him. Typical Los Angeles, walked fucking nowhere. Every so often he looked back and caught Richie looking up at the surrounding buildings, the ethnic foodstores, takeouts and laundromats, small family businesses with scruffy shopfronts characteristic of the area. He sensed Richie’s brain working, putting two and two together. Eddie hadn’t been entirely truthful about his financial situation.

‘Here we go,’ said Eddie when he’d unlocked the apartment, coming just short of adding _home sweet home._

‘Huh,’ said Richie. He placed his holdall on the floor and looked around. ‘It’s...’

‘It’s clean, it’s safe,’ said Eddie briskly. ‘Take off your shoes and put them over there.’

‘I was going to say “depressing”,’ said Richie, doing as he was told. He scanned the bare magnolia walls, the plain, unadorned furnishings. ‘Does anyone actually live here?’

‘I live here,’ snipped Eddie. ‘It’s fine. It’s temporary.’ He hoped.

‘I hadn’t realised –,’ but Richie stopped himself, shook his head. ‘Can I use your shower? I’m all gross from the flight and I’m pretty sure some working class people touched me on that subway.’

Eddie rolled his eyes at the obvious bait. ‘It’s that door there. I’ve set a towel aside for you.’

Richie grinned. ‘Yeah, wouldn’t want to share ball sweat.’

Eddie ignored the bait again. ‘Don’t forget your bag. You’ll want a change of clothes.’

Something played over Richie’s mouth, etched a parenthesis in one cheek. Whatever it was he managed to resist this time. He picked up his bag and went into the bathroom. Eddie let go a breath. He sat on the couch and put his face in his hands. 

He hadn’t considered, had not had the time to, how difficult it was going to be. It was one thing over the phone or in hotel rooms, those weren’t quite real, could be hidden. It was another thing entirely to have Richie in his own home, or what passed for it these days. Eddie felt stripped down and laid open. He felt ashamed. 

By the time Richie returned Eddie had got himself under control. Richie was damp and flushed from the shower, his towel-scrubbed hair even more ludicrous than usual. It made him look oddly youthful. Eddie felt a poignant sadness for the years they had lost not knowing one another. 

‘You got anything to eat? I’m starved.’ Without waiting for a response Richie began rooting in the fridge. ‘Jesus, Eds. Is this your one-man Christmas lunch?’

‘I was just going to cook a little –.’

‘It wasn’t my reason for coming here, but looks like I’m going to have to stage an intervention. Holy shit, is this kale? Don’t you know healthy food is illegal during the holidays? That settles it, we’re going out.’

Eddie let himself be persuaded. There was something familiar in the routine, yet not familiar at all. His mother and Myra had always made decisions for him, always “for his own good”, but it was only with Richie that he actually felt it _was_ for his own good. Richie wanted him to enjoy something, and was prepared to lightly bully him into it. Yet Eddie knew that if he resisted firmly enough, Richie would back down. He wouldn’t cry or sulk for days about it either. He would just eat the horrible buckwheat salad.

They spent a long time wandering the neighbourhood, until Richie’s complaining about impending ketosis irritated Eddie enough into choosing a Middle Eastern place he’d got takeout from once and liked. After some prevaricating on Eddie’s part they ordered grilled chicken and lamb, seasoned with ras el hanout and pomegranate seeds. There were big soft flatbreads, a green salad, and patterned dishes of sharp yoghurt. ‘Come on, Eddie,’ Richie said when Eddie refused the yoghurt. ‘Your Central European ancestors didn’t shit themselves half to death evolving lactose tolerance just so you could fake a fashionable sensitivity.’ So Eddie tried the yoghurt and found it good. Afterwards they drank small cups of _ghavhe tork_ , toothachingly sweet and thick enough to stand a spoon in. Richie read the grounds in Eddie’s cup, in a Voice that reflected no existing national or ethnic boundary. By the time they got back to the apartment Eddie was pleasantly buzzed. 

While Richie channel-surfed Eddie opened the wine and retrieved the herringbone blanket. Richie laughed at it, but when he got settled he pulled Eddie with him. He tucked him into his armpit, which seemed made for this exact purpose. ‘You comfy?’ he asked and Eddie, too moved to find the words, nodded. 

‘That’s what I could be doing right now,’ said Richie, finding _Home Alone 2_. ‘Ugh, Tim Curry gives me the creeps.’ He stroked Eddie’s arm with his fingertips, stirring the hair, raising goosebumps. Eddie shut his eyes. He could hear the sound of Richie’s big heart beating. While the movie played he dipped in and out of sleep, Richie’s narration following him into his dreams. ‘Look at that little psycho, he’s _enjoying it_. Could’ve used that fucker back in ‘89.’

When the film finished Richie gave Eddie’s shoulder a shake. ‘Hey, Eds. Time for bed.’

Eddie turned his face into the soft fabric of Richie’s t-shirt like a sleepy child, reluctant to leave the warm bulwark of his body. He sensed Richie’s hesitation, then felt his arm come back around him, pulling him into a hug. Lips pressed the crown of his head. 

‘Come on now.’ Richie uprighted him. ‘Santa doesn’t visit the kids who stay up.’

‘You stopping here?’ The sleep-stunned blur of his own voice. Eddie caught sight of his untouched drink. 

‘Why not? This blanket’s pretty nice and I can grab a couple of throw pillows. I’ve slept in way worse places.’

‘Okay. Goodnight, Richie.’

‘Night night, Eds.’

Eddie cleaned his teeth and face, took his meds, changed into flannel pyjamas. The reflection in the mirror looked softer, somehow unburdened. No guesses there. 

The small apartment put him within earshot of Richie in the other room; from his bed Eddie listened to the sounds of his routine, an intimacy that bordered on voyeurism. He turned off the light, knowing already that he would not sleep. 

Once enough time had passed he got up, slipped into the dark living room. He could hear the shore sounds of Richie’s breathing. 

‘Richie?’ Eddie kneeled down next to the couch. 

‘Hm?’ Richie grunted awake. ‘Eds. Bad dream?’ 

It wasn’t even a joke. Eddie reached out and took Richie’s big cool hand in his.

‘Richie,’ he said again, kissing the rawbone knuckles. 

‘Eddie.’ Names exchanged, speaking volumes. Richie cupped the back of Eddie’s head and brought him forward for a kiss. Shuffled over on the couch. Made room. 

***

Eddie woke up in his bed with Richie plastered on top of him. 

‘Ugh, dude.’ He squirmed. ‘You’re fucking heavy. And sweaty. Gross.’

‘I don’t recall you complaining last night. Happy Christmas to you too, by the way.’ Richie lifted himself up to let Eddie wriggle free. 

‘Is this how you always share a bed? On top of your victim?’ Eddie’s eyes caught on the trail of pink starbursts marking Richie’s collarbone; he felt himself blush.

‘I dunno, I don’t do it that often. I don’t think so?’ Richie put his glasses on, saw the direction Eddie’s eyes were going in and looked. Grinned. ‘Little beast.’

Eddie wanted to say something smart but deigned to be kissed instead. Richie’s mouth was pungent with sleep, his skin salt-scurfed and redolent of tide pools. Somehow, Eddie liked it. 

‘Any chance of breakfast? Burned a lot of energy last night.’ Richie grinned shamelessly.

‘If that’s your idea of humour then no wonder you’re a persona non grata on the comedy circuit right now. You can eat when you’ve washed, you’re fucking nasty.’ He belied it with another kiss. Richie took the opportunity to turn him over into the blankets, pressing him down with his big body. 

Breakfast was Bran Flakes, fruit salad, strong coffee; Eddie’s usual. Richie didn’t complain, wolfing it down with typical abandon, tapping out seasonal texts. Eddie found his gaze drawn as though by a magnet. Even when Richie spilled milk down his shirt Eddie couldn’t look away. 

‘I didn’t get you a gift,’ said Eddie. He was suddenly sorry for not having a tree, anything at all to acknowledge the day.

‘That’s fine, I didn’t get you one either and I actually knew I’d be here –.’ Richie caught Eddie’s expression. ‘ – Um. Thought I’d be here. Maybe.’

‘Yeah, whatever. You can have that one.’

Richie grinned, then looked inspired. ‘Hey, I can give you my dick if you want? A Christmas dicking? A _Dick-ensian_ Christmas?’

Eddie’s mouth compressed. ‘Very clever. Straight after breakfast? Isn’t it like swimming, you have to leave it an hour before you get back in the water?’ But his stupid, slutty body was already responding to the suggestion. Fucking biology. He slunk back to bed. 

Again they kissed for a long time, long enough for breakfast to stop being an issue. ‘This is so weird,’ said Richie. ‘I used to think kissing was how you got to the good stuff. Now it is the good stuff. Or at least as good as.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Apart from orgasms, of course. Orgasms are obviously the best.’

‘Speaking of which.’ Eddie canted his hips in a pointed way. 

‘Oh, that reminds me. I did actually bring you a Christmas present.’ Richie grabbed his phone, slid through the screen for a minute or so. Eddie ground his hips into the sheets irritably. 

‘Here.’ Richie turned his phone towards him. 

‘A text message from your sexual health clinic. Gee, thanks Santa.’

‘An all clear from my sexual health clinic. We can go bareback, baby!’

‘This message is two weeks old,’ said Eddie critically, swallowing back the tightness in his throat. ‘Haven’t you been, err –.’

‘The term is active and I think you’re referring to the Grindr thing.’ Richie sounded as though he was trying very hard to speak lightly. ‘I didn’t meet up with anyone.’

Eddie was astonished. ‘But all those pictures you sent!’

‘Dude, have you ever downloaded Grindr? You can’t move without a dickpic hitting you in the eye.’ He went still and quiet. ‘I thought you’d find them funny.’

‘I guess? They were more intimidating to be honest.’ It occurred to Eddie that he might, in this spirit of honesty and soul-baring, mention how horny they had made him too. Not a fucking chance. 

‘Aw, babe.’ Richie gave him a friendly squeeze between his legs. ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about.’

‘Why didn’t you?’ 

‘Meet up with anyone? I dunno.’ Richie’s eyes found some distant point above Eddie’s shoulder. ‘Guess it turns out I’m kind of emotionally monogamous.’

‘Richie.’

‘It’s hardly a new feeling. Like, I think it’s been part of the problem the whole time. It’s just I can place it now.’

‘Richie.’

‘There was someone. After the hospital transferred you to New York and I went back to LA.’

‘Oh,’ said Eddie. He felt like a dog that, being petted, had been suddenly pinched. ‘Who?’

‘Just this guy from a bar. The usual type.’ Richie didn’t elaborate exactly what that was. ‘I was feeling pretty shitty, pretty shitty drunk too, and he was there.’

‘How was it?’ Eddie didn’t know why he asked, wanted to stuff the words right back in his mouth the moment they left it. 

‘Same old. Fine at the time, dogshit after. Perhaps moreso than usual.’ Richie’s eyes flitted to Eddie’s, then away again. ‘That was four months ago. Anything I’ve done since then was with you. And I deleted the app when I was on the plane over here.’

Eddie didn’t know what to say, but his body knew what to do. He pulled Richie into his chest, squeezing him hard, caressing his hair while he rode the crest of his emotions. 

‘Not gonna lie,’ Eddie said. ‘I jacked off to those pictures too. More than a couple of times.’

Richie snorted wetly into Eddie’s shirt. ‘Dude. Too much info.’

‘Seriously, I nearly pulled the damn thing off. It’s been that bad.’ He paused, rolling the next words around his mouth. ‘I mean, I lost my job, so I’ve had a lot of time to kill.’

Richie sat up on his elbows. ‘You’re kidding?’

‘Nope.’ Eddie continued to stroke Richie’s hair, the shivery nape of his neck. Used his nails. 

‘Dude, the fuck? When?’

‘My birthday, would you believe.’

‘Christ. Why?’

‘I’ve taken a lot of time off recently. Plus, my recent behaviour suggests I’m not suited to a job in risk analysis.’ Eddie tapped the raw furrow in his cheek. 

‘You were having fucking surgery! And trying not to die of blood poisoning!’ Richie was pink with offence. ‘Fucking assholes!’

‘Wall Street, man. This shouldn’t come as a surprise to you.’

‘I mean, they’re not wrong. You are a terrible risk analyst.’ Richie turned his face into the caressing hand, dealing it a biting kiss like an overstimulated cat. 

‘Fuck you, I’m an excellent risk analyst. I’m just terrible at following my own advice.’

‘That’s true. I still think we should’ve ran that first night after the fortune cookies. Just banged all night, let those assholes deal with the clown.’ Richie frowned. ‘Seriously though, are you okay?’

‘I’ve been better.’

‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ 

‘I dunno, man. It’s a hard conversation to have.’ He really didn’t know.

‘You’ll be okay. You were like, born for this thing. Whatever the fuck it is. Someone’ll snap you up.’

‘Maybe.’ Eddie did not tell him that he hadn’t applied for a single job. He didn’t mention the inertia. It wasn’t that he thought Richie wouldn’t understand – he knew he would, and it was perhaps that which was part of the problem. Whatever the reason, today was not the day for it. He’d been happy these past sixteen hours. He wanted more of that. 

‘You know, I don’t see the point in you being here if you’re just going to feel sorry for me and not show meat. You mentioned bareback?’

After that it was perhaps easier for Eddie to succumb to the thing he had feared before. There remained a wall, but he could talk about it. ‘It will have to be you,’ he said, to which Richie responded with a kiss. What had come like an instinct when drunk became awkward sober, but Richie was gentle, guided his hand. (‘Not that you need showing, you’re a fucking natural at this part.’) While Eddie’s fingers worked Richie turned over onto his stomach, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow. Eddie felt that poignant sadness again. He leaned across, kissed the soft hairs on the nape of Richie’s neck so he shivered up, and twitched, and clenched around him. Something altered. Eddie thought of the photos, of Richie on his knees in the hotel bathroom that first time. He embedded his teeth in Richie’s shoulder and mounted him, like some breeding creature, gripped his hips till the skin bleached white. Richie braced himself against the headboard to bring him deeper. They didn’t speak, though Richie made muffled cries into his elbow. Eddie was aware he was making noises too, sounds he hadn’t known he could make and which seemed wrenched from his throat. 

Richie came first, a hot rush into Eddie’s palm. Eddie pressed his forehead against the hot-flushed, sweat-skimmed surface of Richie’s back. ‘Now’s the time to say if you don’t want this,’ he rasped out. 

‘Pull out and I’ll fucking kill you.’ The words jagged on the snaps of Eddie’s hips. It was enough. Eddie pressed his bared teeth against the broad spread of Richie’s shoulder, and came hard inside him.

‘Fuck,’ said Eddie after, when he’d scrubbed his hands with sanitiser and caught his breath. ‘I think I just became one of those assholes who insists it’ll be better without a condom.’

‘But babe, I just wanna _feel_ you, I just wanna be _close_ to you,’ whined Richie uncannily. Then, in his own voice, ‘It does feel so fucking awesome, though.’

‘Have you ever...’ Eddie cast what he hoped was an appealing look at Richie.

‘You really think I’m some kind of homo Lothario don’t you? The answer is yes, a couple of times, when I was very drunk and very sad. Now stop making me rake over my sexual history like some kind of erotic gardener, please.’

Eddie got up to shower. It was pointless because by the time he got back he was ready to go again. It was softer this time, less greedy. Richie remained unwilling to face him so he turned him on his side and spooned him. Fucked gently into him, sliding in on himself. Richie made soft sounds. They were so close to grief that Eddie pulled him closer, kissing his neck and shoulders, murmuring nonsense. Otherwise he didn’t touch him. He wanted this as long as possible.

Afterwards, lying together in a rumpled, tacky-limbed embrace in a bedroom that didn’t smell like his own, it occurred to Eddie that until Richie he had been a sort of virgin. He’d had sex, of course: Myra, and once before her a girl in college when he’d been desperate to get the whole thing over with. But until Richie he had never _fucked_ before. He’d never made love. 

Richie refused to even entertain the idea of the turkey breasts and kale in the refrigerator so they went out. The Middle Eastern place was open so they went there again. Richie talked and talked and talked, and Eddie drank sweet, thick coffee, occupying a place of extraordinary mellowness. Never mind Christmas: he’d never had _any_ day like this, or at least not one that hadn’t involved morphine. He watched Richie’s mouth move, only half listening to what he was saying, and loved him.

‘Are you okay?’ asked Richie in a concerned voice. ‘You haven’t bawled me out once.’

‘I’m fine.’ He squeezed Richie’s knee under the table. Richie’s face did a thing. For a long time he was silent, visibly moved. 

When they got back to the apartment they were both too full and middle-aged for more sex, so settled down on the couch with the blanket and yesterday’s half-bottle of undrunk wine. They made out to a background noise of Christmas films, like kids in a movie theatre, something neither had ever done. Eventually Eddie’s face began to itch and they stopped. Eddie sprawled himself across Richie, embracing the bigness of him. 

There was no question that night of Richie sleeping on the couch. They settled in bed together as though they had done it a thousand nights before, Eddie reading off his phone while Richie put his head on his chest and shot off text messages. At some point Eddie put his hand on Richie’s scalp and played with his hair. Richie’s eyes slid shut. Soon enough, Eddie was asleep also.

***

The following days existed in a sort of luminous bubble, when Eddie recalled them after. He’d never known such contentment. It wasn’t that he never thought about the other stuff – the divorce, the job –, but when he did he found he could stand apart from it. Nor did he ask Richie when he intended to leave: Eddie knew he had commitments in early January, but until those dates were fixed he was happy to exist in the bubble. It wasn’t avoidance, exactly, it was just… decompression. A break away from himself. 

On New Year’s Eve they continued with what had become by that point an established pattern. They went out for Thai, had a couple of beers, and headed back to the apartment well ahead of the fireworks. In bed they kissed, lit only by the ambient glow of the city sliding in through the blinds. Richie put his hand between Eddie’s legs as he had done many times before. This time, however, he slid further, pressing lightly with a finger. Stopped kissing a moment to gauge Eddie’s reaction. 

‘Yes,’ said Eddie. ‘Okay.’

He let Richie take the lead. He was fraught with anxiety but excited too, and Richie impossibly tender. Eddie allowed himself to be undressed, angling his injured shoulder away as had become his habit. He was laid out and a pillow placed under the small of his back. When Richie began to kiss a line down his body he felt oddly distant, as though standing apart from proceedings. Minutes later he was brought back into his body when Richie slid a finger inside him. It was something he had only ever done to himself, and had found it a lot like trying to tickle himself, it just didn’t work. This worked just fine. 

Pleased at the response he was getting Richie went one better, and took Eddie in his mouth. Eddie’s hips jammed upward; Richie snorted in surprise then doubled down. The sensation seemed to encase Eddie’s pelvis. Where he’d always tried to be polite before he now found himself grabbing Richie’s hair, pushing him down, fucking into his mouth. Richie responded in kind, pushing more fingers deeper into him. Breaking him wide open. 

After a while he pulled out. Eddie felt bereft. They kissed while Eddie levelled out, and when he was sufficiently calm Richie pushed him back onto the bed. He kneeled between his legs, stroking the inside of his thighs. 

‘You ready?’ Richie asked.

It took a long time. Richie kissed him throughout, stroking his hips, making him arch up to meet him. Eddie was stunned by the heated drag of it, the almost-pain. As a child he had broken his arm and learned that pain was something surmountable. Now he learned that it was something that could be controlled, used, given _potential._

‘Are you okay?’ asked Richie. His tone made Eddie want to ask him the same question. He nodded. Richie pressed their damp foreheads together, shutting his eyes. He was shaking badly.

Eddie dug his heel into the mattress and began to rock against Richie. He heard the catch in Richie’s breath beside his ear. The sensation which had started as pain now began to transform into something else. Eddie could feel the air of unborn cries shifting in his throat. After a minute Richie began to match him. His big hand came around the back of Eddie’s knee, bringing up the leg, splaying him open. The other hand moved to Eddie’s dick, stroking him. He began to move with real earnest. 

‘Oh, god,’ Eddie gasped, spine bending as though hooked to a current. He put his hands on Richie’s face. ‘Rich, sweetheart. Open your eyes. I need you to look at me.’

Richie did. Even in the darkness, Eddie could see how affected he was. 

Eddie had never had such an impression of the size of Richie as he had now, over him and inside of him, deep in his belly. Eddie remembered the wedding, Richie crowding him against the door. That thing like fear. This was like that, but more. It occurred to him that Richie could, if he wanted, be something dangerous. Could take more than what Eddie could give him. Something buried deep inside of Eddie was touched, as though by a live wire, and with a shout that was surprise as much as anything he came hard over his stomach. 

‘Holy shit.’ Richie shuddered violently. ‘Oh, Jesus. If you don’t want me to come in you say something quick.’

Eddie made a noise that wasn’t English.

‘Too slow,’ gasped Richie, wrenched out, and shot all over Eddie’s stomach. 

‘Dude!’ Eddie stared down at this come-splattered torso. ‘Gross!’ 

Richie began to laugh. ‘I warned you!’ 

‘That’s like, fucking impolite, man. Oh, god, it’s starting to melt.’

‘ _Melt_? Dude, here.’ Richie grabbed the corner of the comforter and dabbed ineffectually at the mess.

‘The _fuck?_ Are you a fucking _animal?_ Get some tissues, you fucking derelict!’

Outside, fireworks started up. Richie, already laughing, became hysterical. 

‘Oh my god,’ he wheezed, swiping the tears from his eyes. ‘It’s like they’re celebrating the loss of your ass virginity.’

‘Get me the. Fucking. Tissues.’ 

Richie did, tenderly patting at Eddie’s stomach which was sort of sweet except it was useless. Snatching the tissues, Eddie scraped himself down like he was taking ice off a windshield. ‘I don’t fucking get it,’ he griped. ‘How the fuck’s it so good?’

‘What? Sex in general or ass-fucking in particular?’

‘Both. But yeah, that. Because I don’t care about anything else any more. I want you in me 24/7. That’s your job now.’

‘Aw, man.’ Richie looked genuinely put-out. ‘You’re just like all the other twinks.’ 

‘I’m a twink?’ Eddie knew the term but didn’t think he understood it. ‘Whatever. But yeah, I mean all of it, really. Because I’ve had sex before and it was – fine? But like, not as good as a foot rub? I don’t get it.’

‘It’s because I’m like, the black belt version of a lover. You’re very fortunate to have lost your ass hymen to me,’ Richie explained. Then his face altered, lit by the sudden coloured flashes of fireworks. ‘It’s different for me too.’

‘I know I’m not great at it.’ 

‘You are, though. Okay, I’ve been with way more experienced people who would do like, anything. And I’m not gonna lie, it was pretty awesome. Physically. But it’s like how you feel about a great movie versus how you feel about your favourite movie. I mean, I’ve seen _Casablanca_ , right? But I’m not going to watch it again. But you, you’re like, fucking _Ghostbusters_.’ Richie began to clean his glasses. ‘Basically what I’m saying is that it’s better because I love you.’

Eddie knew what it was he had to say but the words jammed in his throat. ‘I can’t believe you compared me to _Ghostbusters_ ,’ he said instead, meaning it humorously but hearing the charge in his voice. Then, as it had done before would do so again, his body came to the rescue. Said physically the thing that could not be said with words. By the time the last of the fireworks had flickered out they were both asleep, limbs knotted, indissoluble bodies.

***

When they woke the next day Richie had only one thing on his mind.

‘I want to see your twink pics.’

‘We still haven’t established what that is exactly and why I am one. I’m like, new to this, remember.’

‘You aren’t one now, but I highly suspect you’re post-twink.’ Richie’s mouth made a grim line. ‘Otherwise my entire sexuality is built on a lie.’

Eddie didn’t know what that meant either but did as asked. He didn’t really do social media but he had an inactive Facebook account, and when he logged into it he discovered that Myra had not yet unfriended him. He tapped into her albums.

‘Here. I think I’m about twenty-nine in that one.’

‘Holy shit, I knew it. You Bambi-eyed fuck.’ Richie stared at the picture for a long time. ‘I know you tell me I shouldn’t, but I fucking hate Myra. She had this piece of prime veal to herself and didn’t have a clue what to do with it.’

‘Wow, way to make a guy feel special.’ Eddie rolled his eyes. ‘Sorry I got old, man. Sorry I’m too fucking age appropriate for you.’

‘Aw, babe, you know I think you’re hot stuff.’ Richie gave his temple a vigorous kiss, squeezed his ass. ‘It’s just, this is like finding the missing piece, you know? Like discovering the King Tut’s tomb of my raging hard-on for hairless power bottoms. It’s like my body knew, man. I couldn’t remember you but my dick sure did, and it made some assumptions about how you’d turn out. Correct fucking assumptions. If it makes you feel better I think the database is like, updating, now that I know better. I’m going to start forming worthless attachments to ripped manlets with boring desk jobs any day now.’

‘Is that another gay word I’m supposed to know?’ 

Richie began filing through the album. After a while his hand came round, began to stroke Eddie through his boxers. ‘Nope,’ Eddie said. ‘I’m still covered in jizz from last night. I’m getting a shower.’

In the shower he examined, with strange satisfaction, the small pale bruises blooming across the back of one thigh like forest flowers. There was a dull, gratifying ache; another new sensation. He was rinsing the suds from his hair when he heard the slap of Richie’s feet on the tiling. ‘Hey, gorgeous,’ said Richie, sliding open the shower door. ‘You up for a little –.’ The words died in his throat. ‘Oh, fuck.’

Eddie turned around. Richie was white, face drawn in a rictus of shock as though heart-struck. Eddie grabbed a hold of him. 

‘Rich? Are you okay?’ He could hear the rising panic in his own voice. ‘Please don’t be having a heart attack right now.’

Richie shook his head. He was turning paler by the second. He jabbed a finger at Eddie. ‘Your shoulder,’ he croaked out.

‘Oh.’ Eddie frowned. He’d been doing his best to keep it covered, but it hadn’t occurred to him it looked as bad as that. ‘I mean, it’s pretty ugly, I guess.’

‘No.’ Richie sounded like he could do with a blast on Eddie’s inhaler. ‘Not that. It’s just –.’ And, astonishingly, he began to cry. 

Eddie was stunned. He didn’t know what was happening, didn’t know what to do. He looked away, feeling embarrassed and not sure why that was.

‘Shit, shit,’ Richie was saying over and over again. ‘Sorry.’ But he kept on crying. He turned and walked out.

Eddie hesitated, then grabbed his bathrobe, went into the kitchen and drew a glass of water. His hands were shaking. He drank it off, refilled it, and went into the bedroom. Richie was sitting on the bed with a box of tissues in his lap, dabbing his eyes furiously. Eddie handed him the water. 

‘I’m sorry but I’ve no idea what just happened.’ He realised he was standing apart from Richie, keeping his distance, and felt ashamed. He loathed it when people cried. ‘I’m so bad at this sort of thing.’

‘Don’t worry about it. It was just a freak-out.’ Richie scrumpled his used tissue and put it on the bedspread. Eddie forbore the reflex to say something. ‘I’d just not seen it before. Your shoulder.’ He looked as though he was going to start crying again. 

‘I’ve been trying to avoid showing it. It’s pretty nasty to look at. I didn’t know it would affect you that much, though.’

‘Why the fuck not?’ Richie sounded almost annoyed. He pushed his glasses back on, hiding his pink, wet eyes. ‘You nearly _died_ , Eds.’

‘Oh.’ So it was that. 

‘Yeah, “oh”. I saw it happen, remember? In high fucking definition.’

‘I don’t remember much about it,’ admitted Eddie. He felt like he was apologising and didn’t know what for. ‘I was in a lot of pain, and the next thing I knew I was waking up in a hospital and two weeks had passed.’

‘You came _this close_. Do you remember how I got this?’ Richie tapped the chipped incisor, still rough with newness. Eddie shook his head. He had wanted to ask, but something always stopped him. 

‘You kissed me, Eds. Right in the sewer after you rescued me from the deadlights. You bent over and kissed me, and the next thing I knew you were smashing up against me. You have a hard face.’ He tapped the tooth again; it rang like porcelain in the silent room. 

‘There was blood in my mouth,’ continued Richie. He was staring intently. There was something uncontrolled about him, like a child lashing out. ‘And there was blood all over your face. You made this noise. Like you were choking on your own blood. I thought I had your lung blood in my mouth.’

Something unfurled in Eddie’s memory. The taste of blood and a weight on his chest, as though something ( _the leper_ ) was sitting there.

‘But it was mine,’ said Richie. His tongue rang unconsciously over the tooth’s chipped edge.

‘Kind of feels stupid making all that fuss about safe sex now I know I ate your blood,’ said Eddie. Richie forced a closed-mouth smile which his the tooth. Eddie leaned over and kissed the grim line. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What the fuck for? Like I said, it was just a freak-out. I’m all right now.’

It wasn’t and he wasn’t, but Eddie let it lie. He moved in for another kiss and was surprised when Richie put his hand up.

‘Wait. I’ve got something I need to ask you first.’ Richie took a deep breath. ‘I’ve got to go back to LA Thursday.’

‘Oh,’ said Eddie. He thought his heart might twist out of his chest. Beneath that, he noticed Richie did not say go home. 

‘Yeah, I know. But that’s not what I need to say. What I want is – Eddie, I think you should come with me.’

This time Eddie couldn’t even summon up an oh. 

‘I know it’s like, early and stuff? But, well, what with your job and financial situation being what it is –.’

‘My financial situation’s fine,’ lied Eddie. ‘I’ve got savings and stocks and–.’

‘Shut up. Whatever, it doesn’t even matter. What I want to say is, I want you to come with me. I think it’ll do you good. Do me good, too. This place isn’t good for you, this city isn’t good for you.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with it.’ More bald denial. Richie stared at him. 

‘Horseshit. You’re spending two thousand dollars a month on your asshole ex-colleague’s empty lovenest. You’re haemorrhaging money on divorce lawyers, and you’re going to be paying alimony for the rest of your life because you’re a dumb fuck who just had to tell your wife you cheated on her. You haven’t got a job, or any friends here, and you’re a germaphobe who has to use the _subway_ because you couldn’t afford to keep your car.’

‘Jim isn’t that big an asshole actually,’ said Eddie. ‘I mean, compared to the others. He’s pretty fucking awful to women.’

Richie put his face in his hands. Breathed hard. ‘Eddie, it doesn’t _matter._ Please think about what I’m asking.’

‘I am,’ said Eddie. He was thinking of these last few days, the bubble of happiness. He was thinking how he would feel on Thursday, standing with Richie in the airport and not even able to kiss him goodbye. 

‘Well?’

‘I can’t give you what you want,’ he said. He felt teary all of a sudden. ‘I’m not ready. I’m so sorry.’

‘You’ve told me this before,’ said Richie. He took Eddie’s hand in his. Eddie realised they were both of them shaking. ‘I don’t care. I want as much or as little as you can give me. I’ll take anything. I love you.’

‘I know you do.’ Eddie’s throat ached with feeling. ‘But I don’t know if you still could if you lived with me. I’m not an easy person.’

Richie snorted. ‘Fuck you, dude. I’ve loved you since I was twelve. You think I don’t know you’re an asshole? You think that wasn’t half the appeal? I’m going to love you till one of us is dead, no matter what, and you’re just going to have to deal with it.’

‘Alright,’ said Eddie.

‘What?’ Richie said, caught by surprise.

‘I said alright.’ Eddie was surprised too, his mouth moving as though of its own accord. ‘I’ll move in with you.’ 

‘Holy shit. I really thought we were going to have to have a big argument about this.’ A rabbit-in-the-headlights expression. ‘Um. Awesome?’

‘Pretty awesome, yeah,’ said Eddie, and realised how much he meant it. He kissed Richie before Richie could kiss him. Found the rough edge of the tooth with his tongue.

***

**FEBRUARY**

Richie was standing in a parking lot, two seconds away from the biggest panic attack of his life. He’d spent all morning deep-cleaning his condo, only to pull up at LAX and have it occur to him that he’d not extended the same treatment to his car. Richie’s car was an oversize microbial culture even by his own reckoning; Eddie was going to take one look at it, do a one-eighty, and get straight back on the plane to New York. 

Shovelling taco wrappers and coffee cups into a paper bag, he felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket. _“Landed.”_ Eddie’s texts were terse to the point of rudeness sometimes. But Richie knew he’d be nervous, too. 

There were crumbs everywhere and a faint miasma of old takeout that no amount of Febreze could disguise. It would have to do. Eddie was not the type of person you left waiting, and Richie was not the sort of person who could wait. 

He made his way up to Arrivals but had to stop at the entranceway, on the verge of puking. Miraculously getting it under control, he thanked whatever turtle god might be responsible, and made his way in. The last thing he needed now was a mouth reeking of burrito vomit. He had important plans for this mouth today.

Richie cast his eyes about but recognised no one. He wondered if he had time to get a coffee from the kiosk but his heart rate was high enough as it was. All around people were greeting one another. His attention was drawn for a moment by a pair of young straight hipsters having a vigorous reunion. In the crowd he caught two or three sets of eyes sliding hastily away: fans, or people who otherwise recognised him. He was glad he hadn’t had the coffee, but wished he still carried cigarettes.

After what seemed an age Eddie appeared. He looked faintly ludicrous in what was obviously his special travelling outfit: soft sweatpants, hoodie and New Balance, not unlike what he had been wearing in Derry. The two suitcases he was dragging must have weighed at least as much as him, and he was carrying a gym bag that looked as though it were loaded with bricks although Richie knew it carried medical essentials. Which was to say, “essentials”. Richie felt a wave of love rise up in him with the force of a tsunami. 

Eddie must have sensed it because his head snapped around and he looked straight at him. He frowned, and only Richie knew the fondness it was meant to convey. 

‘Grab this,’ said Eddie by way of greeting, shoving the bigger-looking of the two suitcases at him. 

‘I missed you too,’ Richie replied tartly, and took it. He could feel the pulse in his throat as an actual physical presence. ‘Didn’t you have a serious back-slash-shoulder injury at some point?’ 

‘Bags weren’t going to carry themselves. Why, do you want to carry this one too?’ 

Richie took the gym bag off him, feeling very gallant. Eddie threw him a look that was both grateful and critical. His eyes had a bruised look Richie recognised, several nights of poor sleep piled on top of one another. He wanted to kiss him. But he was aware of several faces turned towards them. Eddie, unused to such attention, was oblivious. 

‘Come on, let’s go. I hate these places.’

Eddie was not happy about the car. ‘Jesus, Rich, did your dog die in here?’

‘I don’t have a dog.’

‘No, because it _died in your car_. Oh, god, is that milkshake? It had better be milkshake. I am not sitting in the remains of your sordid encounters.’

Somehow they managed to Tetris Eddie’s ridiculous baggage into Richie’s convertible. Eddie made a great fuss of brushing the crumbs off his seat with a napkin before getting in. ‘You live like an animal,’ he said matter-of-factly, then tilted his head and looked at Richie.

‘Not here,’ said Richie.

They drove for some time in silence that was not uncomfortable but charged, like an approaching thunderstorm. ‘How was your flight?’ asked Richie. He hated any sort of tense quiet.

‘Is this your attempt at small talk?’ Eddie gave him another of his Looks. ‘It blew, obviously. I was next to a baby. It didn’t cry but there was always the potential it was going to start crying so I couldn’t relax. Not that I’ve ever relaxed on a plane. I hate flying. Everybody goes on about the risk of crashing but they forget the recycled air, they forget about the pathogens. What if someone on that flight had measles? Fucking infection control nightmare, that’s what.’

‘Aren’t you vaccinated?’ asked Richie, knowing the answer already and anticipating the response with pleasure.

‘Of course I’m fucking vaccinated, you dumb bitch, but vaccines are never 100% effective. What if I’m immunosuppressed? I’ve been stressed a lot recently, I’m probably immunosuppressed. What if I don’t have an adequate IgG response and then I get full-blown fucking measles because some fucking soccer mom listened to a Jenny McCarthy interview once and hates herd immunity now? Fuck Andrew Wakefield.’ Eddie stared through the windshield with such venom it was a miracle it didn’t shatter. ‘I can’t believe I’m going to get fucking measles.’

‘You’re not going to get measles,’ Richie soothed. His heart was pumping with an almost erotic violence.

‘How the fuck do you know, Dr Tozier? Have you ever read the complications of measles? You can get pneumonia, or go blind. Have you heard of SSPE? No, of course you haven’t. It’s got an almost 100% fatality rate. And that’s just measles. Remember SARS? That travelled by plane too. No vaccine for fucking SARS.’ Eddie’s voice was becoming progressively more hysterical, as though he was attempting some kind of oral land speed record.

‘You are the only person on the planet still worried about SARS, Eddie. Will it make you feel better if I admit there’s a small chance you might get measles?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay. There’s a tiny chance you might get measles, but as you are vaccinated and healthy as a horse I think it’s a pretty low risk. However, if you do, I promise you can crow about it all you like. From your bed. Where you are dying of measles.’

‘Thank you.’ Eddie sounded as though he meant it. ‘But please stop looking at me and start looking at the road.’

‘Stop giving me reasons to look at you then,’ retorted Richie, doing as he was told, thinking that there was always a reason to be looking at Eddie. 

A few miles passed before Eddie spoke again. ‘Turn here.’ He was pointing to a scrubby side-road that looked as though it were used by farm vehicles. Richie did. ‘Stop the car,’ said Eddie, and Richie did that, too. 

He knew what was coming but the force of Eddie’s kiss still caught him by surprise. He recovered at once and gave as good as he got, holding onto Eddie’s face while Eddie tugged his hair. Forced love into each other’s mouths. When at last they stopped Eddie’s lips were flushed and bruised-looking, his eyes animal-bright. Richie wondered how he’d react to the suggestion a roadside blowjob, looked at the state of the car, and dismissed the idea. He should’ve cleaned the fucking car.

‘I missed you,’ he said. He could say it properly now, fill the words with his heart’s blood.

‘It’s only been two months,’ said Eddie. ‘I missed you, too.’ He leaned across and kissed him again, with a gentleness that still surprised Richie. Until Eddie there had been little gentleness in his life.

‘Did you ruin my hair?’ asked Richie, patting it. It was a good look, no question, but not one he really wanted to turn up at his complex with. He licked his hot-feeling lips.

‘It looks no worse than usual.’ Eddie gave him a once-over that should have been devastating but just made Richie want him more. He’d learned Eddie’s lust-language by now, knew that vicious censure was his primary means of expressing horniness. Richie was going to suck his dick clean off when they got back home.

By the time they got there all that remained of the sun was a glutinous green line demarcating the parts of the horizon not obscured by chaparral hills. Eddie had nodded off part way through the journey, chin on his chest and breathing lightly. Richie had struggled to keep his eyes on the road. Now he was awake again, dozy but interested in the surrounding landscape.

‘This looks pretty nice,’ he said in a tone that sounded like admission. ‘What I can see of it, anyway.’

‘It is nice. Lots of places to hike and run, if you like that sort of thing.’ Richie did not like that sort of thing. 

‘Hm.’ Eddie’s tone indicated clearly what he thought of outdoor running and the fools that did it. That time with Ben had been a one-off. Richie pulled up to a set of iron gates. ‘Is this yours?’

‘This is the complex, yeah.’ Richie tapped in his code. The iron gates swung open and he pulled up the drive.

‘I didn’t expect this. I think I kind of imagined you living in one of those awful McMansions people bankrupt themselves with.’

‘Nope, just a little two-bed with an office. And I own it.’

‘You what?’ Eddie looked so stunned Richie was actually offended.

‘I’m pretty successful, Eds. And like, not a total idiot. I’ve got savings and an accountant and everything.’

‘You don’t come across as the type?’ said Eddie with a guilty shrug.

‘What, a grown-ass adult? Give me some credit.’

‘How are the neighbours?’ 

‘Eh, rich kids passing through mainly. I don’t really interact. They all pretend they don’t know who I am so it suits me.’ 

Eddie’s cheek dimpled. ‘That’s very big-headed of you.’

‘Seriously, you’ll find out for yourself soon enough. Fucking Rebecca Green, man. Every time we run into each it’s ‘ _What is it that you do for a living again, Mr Tozier?_ ’ I don’t live on a fucking trust fund, that’s what.’

It took two trips in the elevator to get Eddie’s bags upstairs. Inside, Richie busied himself with small tasks while Eddie showered the airplane germs off. He returned an inordinate amount of time later in a pair of flannel pants and fleecy top, ruddy-cheeked and soft with tiredness.

‘You hungry?’ asked Richie once he’d stopped staring. He loved Eddie like this, loved having it in his own home. 

Eddie shook his head. ‘I’m actually pretty tired. Do you mind if I go to bed? I know it’s early.’

Richie felt a dull sensation of hurt. He pushed it away. ‘No problem. Your room is that door there.’

Eddie blinked as though surprised, although it was he who had requested his own space. _I’m not ready._ ‘Oh, yeah,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’

They looked at one another, both uncertain what the right thing to do was. It was different now. Before it had been the hotels, stopping over at Eddie’s for the holidays; impermanent things. Now he was here to stay. It could so easily go wrong, and neither was willing to do anything that might make that so. 

‘Well,’ said Eddie at last. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Night, Eds.’ He hoped he sounded more relaxed than he felt. ‘Help yourself to anything you might need. It’s your home now.’ Home. That was a very big small word.

Eddie went off to bed. Richie, who had been hungry before, found he suddenly had no appetite. He put on the TV and tried to watch another stand-up comedian he was interested in, but couldn’t focus. He attempted to respond to some work emails but that was worse, so he watched YouTube. Eventually he gave up and phoned Beverly.

‘Time difference,’ she said on the third ring. Richie heard Ben asking who it was, and Beverly answering.

‘Sorry, I thought you guys would be all-night party animals. You weren’t banging, were you?’

‘We were sleeping. What is it – oh.’ He heard the dawning realisation in Beverly’s voice. ‘It was today, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes. Bev, I don’t know what’s happening. He’s in my house and he’s made it clear we’re not in a relationship but – we made out in the car? But then we got here and he went pretty much straight to bed. At, like, seven.’ He could hear himself getting louder and hastily tamped down the volume. ‘Beverly, what does it _mean?_ ’

‘Richie, there’s only so much I can know when my entire contact with this relationship is you making late-night crisis phone calls,’ she said. ‘So you’ll forgive my reluctance to commit to a full psychoanalysis of Eddie. However, I will say he’s going through a very stressful time. Everything’s changing for him. Your love is one of the few constants in his life right now, and he’s a very risk averse person so he’s probably scared to do anything that might ruin that, including committing to a relationship. Also – and this one may surprise you – _he’s probably just fucking tired_. Like we all are. So my advice is go to bed, get some rest, and see how it looks in the morning.’ She yawned so hugely Richie heard her jaw crack.

‘Thank you, Bev,’ said Richie. ‘Sorry about waking you up. Tell Ben I still think about him when I jerk off.’

‘I tell him every day. Goodnight, sweetie.’

In bed he could hear Eddie in the next room. At one point he got up, used the water filter Richie had specially bought for his arrival, then went to his room. He heard his bedsprings squeak as he tried to get comfy. Eventually Richie got annoyed – with Eddie, with himself –, stuck his earbuds in, and fell asleep to Billy Corgan.

An hour later he woke up, knowing without knowing how that someone was in the room with him. 

‘I couldn’t sleep,’ said Eddie. He was sitting at the end of the bed, a black shape on a blacker background. 

‘Oh,’ said Richie. 

‘Can I stay with you tonight?’

Richie made space, holding up the sheet so Eddie could get into the warm spot. When he’d got settled Richie threw his arm around him. He could feel Eddie’s heart beating through his cotton shirt. He kissed his shoulder, the part he couldn’t bear to look at, the texture like a knot of wood. Eddie had said _tonight_ but they both knew how it would go on. 

‘Thank you, Richie,’ said Eddie. In the darkness his voice was thick with feeling. ‘Everything would be so much harder without you.’

‘Sh.’ Richie kissed his back again. ‘Go to sleep. I love you.’ And with those words filling his mouth with sweetness, he fell asleep himself. 

***

They both knew how it would go, and so it went.

In the small hours of that first day Eddie, still half-asleep himself, woke Richie with a kiss. What followed it began gently, steeped in love and missing each other. Later it roughened. Eddie was noisy when he was being fucked, and Richie had to stop his mouth with kisses. When Eddie came he filled Richie’s throat with his cries. Afterwards Richie’d had to make excuses so he could wash the tears streaking down his face. 

The next morning started as many that followed it would, with Richie lying on Eddie, and Eddie screaming blue murder about it. Richie listened to his empty threats, scratching the dried crust from his belly. He felt suffused with happiness.

His happiness grew only huger as the day progressed. Eddie showered while Richie made coffee. When he came out of the bathroom he was dressed but his hair was rumpled and wet. When he bent over to get his coffee Richie caught the smell off his neck. Eddie favoured shower products derived from poisonous plants: eucalyptus, tea tree, and the like. It was a scent both familiar and well-loved; mingled with the smell of his home, Richie loved it more. Over the coming weeks it would become a part of the background aroma, the chemical profile of the condo altering as Eddie made himself a part of its fabric.

Without asking permission Eddie began rooting through the kitchen, offering commentary on Richie’s selection of kids’ cereal, ramen, sriracha and garlic granules. He’d not known what to make of the cupboard stocked with Purina, and it would be several weeks before Richie dared introduce him to Dame Judi Dench, Battle, Stan-the-Man and the other four members of the cat colony he looked after. Richie had always liked them small, cute, and feral.

Once Eddie had established that there was nothing worth eating they went out for brunch. Richie chose a place he liked; he had pancakes, Eddie something that could be hashtagged _healthful_ and which involved an avocado. Richie had been over a decade in California but still could not abide avocados. The waitress, who he knew and liked and was usually cool, fussed over Eddie to such a degree he was embarrassed. Eddie responded warmly though. Richie sometimes forgot how good he could be with strangers, or at least those he wasn’t sharing a road with.

They went grocery shopping and Richie found himself hauling bags of wholegrains and white protein and fresh produce. Actual fruit. The only time he ever ate fruit was the maraschino cherries on the girly cocktails he favoured. On the way back he became conscious of how they looked together, how _coupley_ , but when he tried to drop back a few paces Eddie slowed down too.

Back in the apartment Eddie berated Richie for not taking his shoes off at the door (‘I live here now. If you want me to continue doing so you won’t trail shit through the house’), and for suggesting Eddie’s shoulder might benefit from the complex’s outdoor pool (‘It’s a microbial soup, Rich, I don’t know how clean your neighbours are’). He asked Richie what he used his balcony for and when he replied ‘Smoking,’ was told that he could stop doing that if he wanted Eddie to carry on kissing him. Richie nearly pointed out that Eddie had, on several occasions, kissed him after he’d had a cigarette, then realised Eddie had access to him 24/7 now and could exercise selectivity. It didn’t really matter though. He didn’t feel the need to smoke so much these days.

He remembered when Eddie had told him he was difficult to live with, and smiled.

That night Richie put on _Ghostbusters_. Eddie took his hand and kissed it. Part way through the movie, with his head on Richie’s chest, he asked ‘Do you think Stantz and Spengler are supposed to be a couple?’ and Richie, if possible, loved him more.

In bed Richie sucked him softly, stretching it out so in the end Eddie was frantic with need. Afterwards, Eddie turned Richie onto his side and wrapped himself around him. ‘Maybe like this I can get some ergonomically sound sleep?’ he said, and kissed Richie’s neck.

And so it went.

***

**JUNE**

There was a feeling, it turned out, that existed in hinterland that lay between “puking”, “ginormous panic spiral”, and “horny”, and Richie was having it. 

He lit a cigarette. The nicotine struck his bloodstream; he made an obscene noise and filled his lungs to capacity. On the second hit his upset stomach and jangled nerves smoothed over. That left only the third thing. Eddie had been in New York an entire week, and Richie’s dick was unhappy about it. 

Richie was conscious that, at his age, he should feel a little bit ridiculous for being so put-out about it. It had been one week. _One week_. Once upon a time, not so long ago, not getting any had been standard. He’d have a once-in-a-blue-moon fuck, then put up with the acute self-loathing and unaccountable terror the rest of the time. With those things gone – or reduced, in any case – it was as though his dick had been let off the leash. He could whistle all he liked, but the damn thing wasn’t coming back. 

__

__

There was the metaphor that got away. Richie popped his ankles up onto the balcony railing, being careful not to knock any of Eddie’s herbs: self-loathing or otherwise, Richie valued his life. His skin prickled with UV. He dragged on his cigarette, nerves humming with contentment.

Eddie was due home in only a few hours, but Richie was impatient. He entertained the idea of going back indoors and jerking off, but it seemed sort of rude as well as self-defeating. Plus he was kind of enjoying all the carcinogens out here on the balcony. He met himself in the middle and pulled forward a favourite memory. It was a couple of months old by now and already well-worn from use. 

Richie’s adolescent sexuality had cut its teeth on Eddie’s tiny shorts. Fashion drift and Eddie’s middle-aged boringness decreed that such halcyon days would never be repeated, a fact which Richie accepted but did not enjoy. God bless the Californian climate then, and Eddie’s recent interest in running outdoors.

‘I’ve crunched the data,’ Eddie had said, not even joking. ‘And while my chances of being eaten by a mountain lion are significantly higher out here than in New York, I’m much less likely to be bitten by someone with a blood-borne virus, or get run over by a cab. I think I’ll risk it.’ 

Eddie had been doing this sort of thing recently, taking little risks. Sleeping on the couch; petting strange dogs; cooking with oil and salt. It pleased Richie to watch him give into these small pleasures. 

Then he’d begun running outdoors.

It hadn’t taken Eddie long to find a job, actuaries (Richie had finally learned the name) apparently being in very high demand. Both working, they discovered they moved to different rhythms. Eddie was the early-to-bed, early-to-rise type, Richie a night owl who rarely saw 11 AM. As Eddie liked to run before he went to work, it happened that it was well into spring before Richie caught him at it. Or rather, post-at it. 

‘Holy shit,’ Richie had said.

‘You’re up early.’ Eddie was bent at a 30° angle in their living room, touching the upturned toes of one socked foot. Corded muscle stood out of his tanned calf. There was a faint shimmer of sweat on his neck, and his cheekbones were licked with pink. You could’ve bounced a nickel off his ass.

‘Holy shit,’ said Richie again, because Eddie was not getting it. 

‘Are you all right? You look flushed.’

‘Fuck yeah, I’m flushed.’ Richie jabbed a finger in Eddie’s direction, made a little round-the-world gesture to indicate the whole package. ‘ _Look_ at you.’

Eddie just looked confused. ‘I don’t really get what you’re getting at?’ He switched legs. ‘I’m cooling down? It’s a thing people who work out do.’

‘Yes.’ Richie wasn’t even embarrassed by the quantity of sheer unbridled lust in his voice. Eddie’s shirt was clinging in dark patches to his body, and his hair was stupid, and his shorts were _so short_. Richie, who knew Eddie’s body better than he knew his own, felt as though he were seeing him naked for the first time. How dare he behave as though this were normal? 

‘You have tan lines,’ he blurted out, eyes riveted to the white flesh peeking out from the so tiny shorts.

‘Ugh, I know, right. I wear sunscreen and everything, but I always tanned well.’ Eddie lifted a bit of fabric critically, exposing more pale skin, further enhancing the brown-gold of the rest of his leg.

‘Are you doing this on purpose?’ Richie rasped out. 

‘Doing _what_ on purpose?’ snapped Eddie. Then he looked at him properly. ‘Oh, for god’s sake, you big horny idiot. I literally can’t do an–.’

Richie had had enough. He crammed against him, barging him up against the wall, fixing their mouths together. He felt rather than heard Eddie’s moan, the shiver that racked up his body. Richie knew Eddie liked it when he used his size against him. He palmed Eddie between his legs. The slippery material of his shorts allowed no room for decency. Freshly sweated and outdoorsy, he smelt and tasted like some fabulous sea-creature, yet wonderfully of himself, also.

‘Jesus, Richie. I’m fucking gross. I need to shower.’ Eddie’s breath was coming fast, his eyes black with pupil. 

‘No,’ said Richie, knowing it was what wanted Eddie to hear. He applied his weight and felt a little frisson pass through Eddie’s body as he relinquished control. That was enough.

Bullying Eddie into the bedroom, he pushed him onto his back on the unmade covers, dragging off the shorts and working him loose with lubed fingers until he was arching up off the bed. ‘Richie, _Richie _,’ he kept saying, increasingly frantic.__

____

____

‘Use your manners.’

‘ _Please,_ Richie.’ He sounded as though his guts were being dragged out hand over fist. 

Richie dropped a kiss onto his hip, turned him onto his belly and got on top of him. Let him take his weight. He placed a hand on Eddie’s kissed hip, then lent down so their faces were side on. ‘Eddie?’ he asked; a question, because this was new. 

‘Please,’ said Eddie again. 

He sat back, hauling Eddie up onto all fours. He took a moment to grease and compose himself. When he entered him he tried to be careful, but then Eddie snapped, ‘Fuck’s sake, Rich, I’m not made of glass,’ and pushed back, taking the whole of him in one hard motion. From that point forward things pretty much wrote themselves. Richie came so hard his vision blacked out. Afterwards he was very moved, and Eddie – still in his damp shirt and socks – kissed the wet from his eyes and cheeks and mouth. 

‘Why do you get like this?’ he’d asked, not unkindly, but Richie could only shake his head. Not now. Perhaps never.

Well, thought the Richie sitting on the balcony of their shared home and rubbing his chest which ached with an old familiar pang. _At least I don’t feel horny now either_. His skin was beginning to burn. He gathered up his pen and notecards and went indoors.

Richie was deep in writing when Eddie came in several hours later. ‘Hey, sweetheart,’ he said, putting down his bags and taking off his shoes. ‘You still working?’

Richie felt a sensation rise up in him like a freed bird. Sweetheart had only recently spilled over from their sex life into everyday. It made Richie’s heart jump every time. Mostly it was still fuckface and dude, but when Eddie returned to him at the end of the day, as he did again and again and again, it was _sweetheart_. 

‘Just some last minute alterations.’ He turned his face up to accept Eddie’s kiss. He watched as Eddie removed his jacket and scruffed his fingers through his hair, the little routine he had grown to love. ‘Conference good?’

‘Very boring,’ said Eddie, meaning yes. He took the cards and pen out of Richie’s hand, put them onto the table, and settled down into Richie’s lap. ‘People were asking about you.’ He kissed Richie with a pleasing thoroughness. ‘Yuck, you’ve been smoking. They were asking about Richard, anyway. That feels like another dude entirely.’

Richie smiled into Eddie’s mouth while his heart jackhammered in his chest. The usual ambivalence. Eddie’s colleagues finding out that he was living with another man had been an accident, and one that was entirely Richie’s fault. Eddie worked from home once a week, and one morning in April was taking a teleconference in the living room. Richie, who never got up before eleven if he could help it, chose to get up at ten on this particular day and stride through the living room in his birthday suit asking if Eddie knew where the Pop-Tarts were. Eddie, quick as a cat, made his excuses and covered the webcam. 

‘For fuck’s sake, I’m working. Put your damn pants on.’ Eddie had whirled to face Richie, pink with rage. ‘And I don’t know where your fucking incipient scurvy food is either.’

‘Pop-Tarts have fruit in them.’

‘Fucking hardly. If they did you wouldn’t fucking eat them.’ Richie could see Eddie’s mouth working as it did when he was on the brink of a lecture. ‘Do you know what happens to you when you get scurvy?’

‘No, but I’m about to find out.’

‘Your teeth fall out, fuckface. You bleed from your ass.’

‘Aw babe, you got me for that.’ The moment the words were out of his mouth his guts turned cold. Like a premonition. ‘Um. Eds? You muted the connection on that thing, right?’

Eddie had not muted the connection. 

‘What have you told them about me?’ asked Richie. Eddie had moved onto his throat and took a long time replying. 

‘That your name is Richard. Apart from that, nothing much. They can draw whatever conclusions they like. It’s weird. Since the whole thing happened I’ve been way more popular at work. I think they thought I had a stick up my ass before then.’ He put his palm over Richie’s mouth. ‘Don’t you dare. That’s what got us in this position in the first place.’

‘I was just going to say I can’t imagine how they came away with that conclusion.’

‘You want me to continue with this?’ Eddie asked, unzipping Richie’s pants. ‘Because I can stop anytime. I don’t care.’

‘Baby, please, you know I know you better than that.’ Richie caught Eddie’s lip with his teeth and they played a while. 

‘You gonna fetch the lube, or we doing this on spit and a prayer?’

‘Better not risk it, I don’t think God’s taking your calls.’ Eddie ground into Richie’s groin. ‘I don’t feel like getting up. You’ve got hands, use them.’

‘Your hands are too tiny.’ Richie gripped both their cocks, heard the sigh that escaped Eddie’s mouth like a release of pressure. ‘How’d the other stuff go?’

‘Doctor was okay. She said I was getting fatter.’ Richie made a noise of indignation. ‘No, no, she meant it like a good thing. She’s this older Indian lady, I think she’s been secretly wanting to force-feed me, like, ghee for years. She thinks this is a sign of me loosening up a bit.’ He shuddered hard. ‘Ah, that’s good, I like that. I told her about you.’

‘Is there anyone in your outer social circle you haven’t told?’ Richie knew he was being unfair.

‘Excuse me, asshole, but my colleagues only know about you because of you. She’s the first person I told, and I didn’t go into detail. Anyway she seemed, I dunno, pleased about it? She’s pretty hard to read – professional, I guess – but I never got the impression she thought Myra was good for me. Plus my blood pressure is like, normal now.’

‘That’s because it’s all in your dick 100% of the time.’ Even Richie winced. ‘Sorry, sorry.’

‘You’re going to have to be funnier than that if we’re going to continue paying the bills. Speaking of which–.’

‘No-o, Eddie Kaspbrak, you haven’t finished telling me about New York. What about the other stuff? How’d that go?’

‘I assume you mean the meeting with Myra and the lawyers and not, like, my passionate reunion with lox? Because I ate so many fucking bagels, seriously. I never ate so many bagels when I lived there.’

‘I meant the lawyers.’ Richie laid a kiss on Eddie’s temple, sensing he was closing in. Eddie had been missing him, too. ‘Come on.’

‘It was as you’d imagine. I had a couple of asthma attacks and Myra tried to help me, it was horrible.’ Eddie dipped his face into Richie’s shoulder and groaned. ‘Also avoiding pronouns is getting pretty fucking strenuous at this point.’

‘They keep coming back to that, huh?’

‘No shit. Only doing their jobs, I guess. Pretty sure Myra’s been doing some detective work herself, and she’s come to the conclusion I’m banging Bev. Can you imagine?’

‘Holy shit.’ Richie actually stopped what he was doing to laugh. Eddie pouted in annoyance. ‘No offence, babe, but she can do better.’

‘Dude, I know that. It’s sort of flattering.’ Eddie kissed Richie deeply, lapping into his mouth. ‘Better hitch up your shirt or I’m gonna make a mess of it.’

Richie did as asked. Eddie dug his fingertips into his shoulders. Richie felt him go taut, the whipcord muscles of his abdomen flex, and he came with a shuddering little gasp. Richie followed shortly.

‘Christ, I needed that,’ Eddie mouthed into Richie’s scalp. 

‘Can I take it you missed me, then?’ Richie made it sound like a joke, but was conscious of his own pathetic need hiding behind the tone. 

‘I did. Not just for that, either. I wish you’d been there when I couldn’t breathe in that office. Myra trying to help, it was just – I really wanted you, then.’ Eddie kissed Richie’s hair. Carried a trail on down to his mouth. ‘Fuck, I’ve still not asked you how you are. Nervous about tonight?’

‘Dude, it’s my job,’ said Richie, then relented. ‘But yeah. My own material and all, it’s pretty nerve-racking. Like, I’ve never actually gone in front of an audience and been myself before. I was shit-scared your plane was going to get cancelled and I’d have to do it alone.’ 

‘I’ll be right there with you, not laughing.’ Eddie got up to fetch kitchen roll to clean them both. ‘Seriously though, it can’t be any worse than the stuff you used to do. If people will laugh at that they’ll laugh at anything. You’ll be fine.’ 

‘That’s actually pretty encouraging,’ said Richie. He watched Eddie blot his abdomen, filled with a tenderness that bordered on pain. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome. I need to wash now. I’m covered in plane germs and jizz.’

‘I love you, Eddie.’

‘I know you do, sweetheart,’ said Eddie, and padded off to shower.

***

‘That could’ve gone worse.’

‘That’s a very ambiguous choice of words, Eds.’ Richie put the two glasses of bourbon on the table and shoved in next to Eddie. ‘Are you attempting encouraging understatement or a gentle segue into a brutal post mortem?’

‘The former, probably. Not that I laughed, but everyone else did, once they got the hang of the new you.’ Eddie took a tentative taste of his drink and winced, pushing it away. ‘I liked the childhood stuff.’

‘Wow. That’s the first time you’ve admitted to anything other than shattering contempt for anything I’ve ever done.’ Richie topped his own drink up with Eddie’s, taking a large mouthful to hide his smile. Eddie was bullshitting. Richie had heard him laughing, louder than anyone else, and at more than the kid jokes too. It was a sound that cut a path straight to his heart, made him realise what had been missing all these years. ‘Seriously, the whole clown shit was bad, but actually gaining access to my childhood memories has given me this, like, wealth of material. We were a bunch of horrible little gremlins.’

‘There was a lot I’d forgotten. And that you never told me.’ Underneath the table Eddie’s hand brushed Richie’s knee and gripped it, in a way that was both compassionate and charged with promise. Richie pushed it away. He caught a flash of something inscrutable pass over Eddie’s face, which was quickly smothered.

‘Not here.’ He indicated the busy bar. ‘Later.’

‘Fine.’ Eddie’s eyes were fixed in front of him. Richie knew the tone.

‘Dude, are you annoyed?’ 

‘No.’ The grim set of Eddie’s mouth suggested otherwise. ‘Sounds like you are, though.’

‘You are. I’ve pissed you off. What the fuck are you annoyed about?’

‘Keep your voice down. You don’t want to draw attention to us, right?’ There was something in Eddie’s voice that Richie hadn’t heard before. It wasn’t quite a sneer, but the element was there. He felt his mouth twist with dislike. 

‘How the fuck are we arguing right now?’ he hissed.

‘You tell me. You tell me what all the fuck this is about.’

Richie’s neck pricked as interested eyes turned towards them. He got up abruptly, knocking the table hard enough that bourbon slopped onto the dull wood. ‘Careful,’ said Eddie, in that tone again.

‘Right. Let’s continue this in the car, shall we?’

‘How much have you drunk?’

Richie, too incensed to speak, picked up his glass and downed it in one. He shoved his hand into his pocket, retrieved his keys and crammed them into Eddie’s hand. ‘There. Happy now? Come on.’

The silence that filled the space was thick and oppressive. Neither reached for the radio to break it. Richie knew he would have to be the one to speak: Eddie had years of practice with the silent treatment, and even at times like these Richie couldn’t keep his mouth shut for more than five minutes. Still, he held on as best he could, furious and not really sure what he was furious about. What this was all about.

‘Okay. You need to tell me what’s going on here.’

‘Nothing’s going on here. You decided something was going on and started shouting.’

‘I wasn’t shouting.’

‘Your voice was raised. People looked.’

‘Jesus Christ. Fine, I raised my voice. But don’t tell me you weren’t annoyed at me. I fucking know you, Eds.’

‘Don’t call me Eds.’ 

Richie felt as though he’d been slapped. It had been ages since Eddie had last said that.

‘I don’t know what’s happening, Eddie.’ Richie could hear the helplessness in his voice, and hated himself for it. ‘What the fuck did I do?’

‘You pushed my hand off your knee.’

Richie stared at him. The car took a bump in the road that hurt his stomach. ‘Dude, is that it? You know how I am about PDA. It’s never bothered you before.’

‘I’ve been plenty bothered before.’ Eddie’s eyes remained fixed on the road. Richie checked the dial.

‘Dude, slow down a bit. You don’t want to lose your licence along with everything else.’

‘Fuck you,’ said Eddie. ‘I didn’t lose everything. At least, I didn’t think I had.’

‘Jesus Christ. Fine. I’m sorry I pushed your hand off my leg. I thought you were cool with how things are, but clearly you’re not.’

‘No, I’m not. No one could fucking see, for fuck’s sake.’ Eddie’s nostrils flared. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The speed began to pick up again.

‘They might have. It just takes one.’ Richie tasted bitterness rising up in his mouth, spat it back at Eddie. ‘Anyway, you’ve some brass fucking balls talking to me like that. You’re the one who doesn’t want to make it serious.’

‘I do take it seriously.’

‘That’s not what I mean and you know it. You’re the one who isn’t ready, whatever the fuck that means. You’ll share a home and a bed with me, you’ll fuck me, but commit to it? Fucking own it? No-o, you’re not fucking _ready_.’

‘You’re not being fair.’

‘Fuck you, Eddie, you’re the one not being fair.’

Eddie’s lip curled, baring his upper teeth. Richie had never found him ugly before.

‘What would the point be? What’s the point in being in a relationship with a person who wouldn’t admit to it, anyway?’

Richie went rigid. ‘Fuck you, asshole,’ he said quietly, and turned to stare out the window.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the journey. When they got home Eddie stalked off to the bedroom while Richie shoved around the kitchen, looking for something to drink. He was pouring scotch when Eddie came back into the room. He was wearing a towel around his waist but was otherwise bare. For once it made no difference.

‘You trying to seduce me into an apology or something?’ Richie’s teeth clipped the edge of the glass.

‘Oh, big fucking surprise, you’re drinking.’ Eddie outright sneered this time. ‘That’s a fucking healthy coping mechanism. I was going for a swim, actually.’

‘Very superior. Get out of the sad fucking closet case’s apartment and let him drink himself stupid.’ Richie felt the familiar sensation of anger turning inward, a hot, hated feeling that was still somehow satisfying.

‘I never called you that.’ Eddie’s face, which had been flushed before, drained white. 

‘I know what you meant, Eddie.’ Richie downed his drink and poured another. ‘That said, I may be a sad closet case, but I’m not a total coward. Least I know how to say I love you.’

The last time Richie had seen Eddie’s face this colour he’d been bleeding out in the ER. He stared at Richie with stunned dark eyes.

‘I’m going for a swim,’ he said quietly, and walked out.

The moment he was gone Richie turned and threw up in the sink. He switched on the faucet, let the water drain, then threw his drink in after it. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He sat on the floor, put his face in his hands, but for once couldn’t drag up the emotional energy to cry. 

After a while the sour taste in his mouth became overwhelming and he got up to brush his teeth. Washing his face, he thought about phoning Beverly but dismissed it. He wasn’t sure he could face the humiliation. In any case, it seemed sort of unfair to tell her about this when Eddie didn’t even know she knew yet. And Richie had been giving him grief about Eddie telling his doctor about him earlier. He felt a weight of self-loathing collapse over him, like grave soil. 

‘Fuck it,’ he said aloud, and headed downstairs. 

The still-warm air hummed with night insects. They crackled up against the floodlights, stirring up a sense-memory Richie didn’t want to examine. In the illuminated water Eddie looked white and sleek, oddly of the element. Richie watched him. At any other time he’d be enjoying the show. Now it just felt as though Eddie were in a place that Richie couldn’t follow. 

‘Eddie.’

Eddie stood up in the water. He seemed unsurprised to find Richie there.

‘Richie.’

Cast in monochrome by the floodlight, he’d seemed unearthly and distant. Now Richie could see that there was a faint bloom on his cheeks from exertion, and an uncertainty in his face. Richie’s heart ached. 

‘Eddie, I’m so fucking sorry.’ Richie tried to sit on his heels and ended up on his knees instead, in a posture undeniably reminiscent of penance, or supplication. ‘I shouldn’t have said what I said.’

‘I’m sorry too.’ Eddie waded over to the edge of the pool. He put his elbows up on the tiles. ‘I was a total shit.’

‘I didn’t mean to call you a coward. I don’t think that at all. I don’t know what happened.’ 

‘It was my fault. I’m a fucking hypocrite, I know I am. I’m sorry I’m like this.’

‘Dude.’ Richie looked into Eddie’s face, his lovely eyes. ‘I don’t want you to be sorry for how you are. I love how you are.’

Eddie’s fingernails dug into the tile. ‘Jesus, Richie. I’m sorry I can’t say it back.’

Richie’s stomach hurt. ‘It’s okay if you can’t. It’s okay if you don’t. I told you before, I’d rather have some of you than nothing. I meant it. I mean it.’

Eddie went rigid. ‘You don’t fucking think that, do you?’ It was difficult to tell where his anger was directed.

‘I don’t know what I think. I don’t know what to think.’ The words bruised his throat. ‘You did say it, once.’

‘The first time. I know, I remember.’

‘So why can’t you say it again?’ Richie’s stomach felt as though it were being squeezed with a fist; he breathed hard, got control of himself. Forced himself to talk. ‘Did you change your mind?’

‘Fuck no, Richie. You must know better than that?’

Eddie’s face was so stark with hurt that Richie struggled not to kiss it. But he couldn’t, not until he knew why. ‘I think I do. I know I do. But it’s hard not to hear.’

‘I _can’t_.’ Eddie placed his wet palm over Richie’s mouth, shook his head. ‘No, you’ve got to listen to me. You’ve got to understand something. It’s something I’ve said it before, lots of times, and it was always, always forced out of me. My mother made me say it. Myra made me say it – and maybe it was true in its way, but it wasn’t this. Nowhere close. The time I said it at the Townhouse – when I was drunk, when the whole fucking clown bullshit was happening and there was every chance we weren’t going to survive the thing – that’s the only time I’ve ever said it and I said it because I wanted to and because I meant it. With the absolute whole of me. The only thing that’s changed is it’s _more_. But I can’t say it again because the rest of the time – it feels false, you know? It’s something I did to appease people. I feel fake and sick when I say it. It’s like what this is? It shouldn’t even be the same word.’ He removed his hand from Richie’s mouth. ‘Do you understand that?’

‘Yes,’ said Richie, hurting and not sure why. ‘Yes, Eddie. But it’s really hard not to hear.’

‘Then I’ll say it. I’ll make myself say it, if you need to hear it.’ Eddie’s hand travelled around the side of Richie’s jaw, audibly scraping the stubble.

‘No,’ said Richie. He pressed his lips to Eddie’s cool damp wrist. ‘Not if you’re not ready. I want you to want to say it.’

‘Thank you,’ said Eddie.

‘In the meantime I can say it for both of us.’

‘Yikes,’ grimaced Eddie. ‘That’s pretty cheesy, Rich.’ He brought Richie’s face down for a kiss. The night air had made his face clammy to the touch, but his mouth was hot and keen. 

‘I’m getting cold,’ Eddie said when he pulled away. He braced himself on the tiles and hauled himself out of the water. In the floodlights Richie caught sight of Eddie’s shoulder, the livid scar like ploughed iron in his back. He turned his face away. Eddie caught the motion.

‘Okay, enough of that.’ He took Richie’s face in his hands again, pulled it round so they were looking at one another. ‘It’s been too long now. You need to look at it.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘It’s just a scar,’ said Eddie. ‘Like the one on my face.’ 

He tried to move Richie’s hand over his shoulder, but Richie wrenched it back. ‘No,’ he said again. ‘It’s not just a scar. It’s not like the one on your face.’

Eddie looked at him seriously. ‘Dude, you need to tell me what’s going on. I can’t spend the rest of my life fucking you with a shirt on.’

Richie laughed, a release of pressure. He kissed Eddie again and stroked the notch in his cheek. He’d grown to rather like it. ‘It’s not the same,’ he said. ‘Because it didn’t kill you.’

The little crease appeared between Eddie’s eyes. ‘Um, hate to break it to you bro, but neither did the other one.’

‘But it did.’ There was a stinging pressure behind Richie’s eyes; he jabbed his fingers up behind his glasses to force it away. ‘I saw it happen.’

‘What are you talking about?

Richie looked at him, at the way the floodlights drew the blood from his skin, turned him bone-white and hollow-eyed. The memory rose up in front of him. ‘I saw it in the deadlights,’ he said. ‘I saw what Beverly saw.’

‘You saw us all die?’ The crease in Eddie’s forehead deepened and one side of his mouth puckered, an expression both concerned and disturbed. He took Richie’s hand, rubbing the knuckles with the ball of his thumb.

‘Just you,’ Richie said.

‘From this?’ Eddie reached around to touch the scar with his free hand.

‘Not quite. It happened differently. You were sat up, like this, and you were happy. And then it got you through the middle.’

‘Here,’ said Eddie. He put his hand on the spot, the exact spot, the claw had emerged from. Richie remembered the sensation of hot blood striking his face. His mouth. He nodded, disturbed.

‘How d’you know?’

‘I don’t know.’ Eddie looked troubled. He peered down at his chest as though expecting to see something emerge. A fleeting expression passed over his face and he looked up at Richie. ‘That’s why you sleep on top of me, isn’t it? You’re protecting me.’

‘Not on purpose. It just sort of… happens.’ Richie swallowed. ‘But I would. Every time.’

‘Oh.’ Richie could see Eddie thinking, imagining Richie’s body moving unconsciously over him. Shielding him from whatever might come his way. When he spoke again his mouth had gone soft and sad. ‘What changed things?’

‘Kissing me. When I saw it in the deadlights, you never kissed me.’

‘Oh.’ Eddie said again. His fingers flexed against his chest, like he was attempting to squeeze his own heart. ‘Well. Thank fuck for that ill-timed urge, I guess.’

‘It was a pretty weird thing to do at that particular moment.’

They kissed, and Eddie took his hand.

‘Richie,’ he said. ‘It didn’t kill me. I didn’t die.’ 

This time when he pulled Richie’s hand around his shoulder, he didn’t flinch. The texture was strange, cooler than he’d expected, like tilled earth. When Eddie turned his shoulder he looked away, but Eddie pulled his face back. ‘Sweetheart, it didn’t kill me,’ he said again. Even in the floodlights the scar was livid, shaped like a moon. He was surprised by the suture marks fringing the line of ruptured flesh. He touched one. The work of the surgeon. Strangely, he felt a little better. Dead people didn’t have healed sutures, after all. 

‘I’m cold,’ said Eddie again. He held out his hand. On the upturned palm Richie saw the faintest trace of another, older scar, nearly vanished. He remembered the love that had put it there. 

‘Okay,’ Richie said, and took Eddie’s hand. Crossed their scarred palms together.

***

**JULY**

At some point in Eddie’s early adulthood he had decided that Sundays were a day like any other, and he would treat them as such. From Monday through Saturday he performed chores, worked, and exercised, and he saw no reason that he should lose a full twenty-four hours a week due to an outdated socioreligious custom he didn’t much believe in anyway. After his marriage things had gotten worse, and it was perhaps this that had allowed for its duration. He had reaped the professional and financial rewards of his dedication, and in the meantime forgotten how to be happy.

That was, until recently. Richie, it turned out, had strong opinions about what Sundays were for, and by extension, what they were not for. It was a conviction that bordered on dogma, although as far as Eddie was aware religion had nothing to do with it. Richie knew pleasure, and understood that time must be made for it. In Richie’s dogma, Sundays were for brunch that involved bacon, or pancakes, or eggs, or better yet a combination. They were for trips to the beach and pink cocktails. They were for long, tangled naps on the couch. Eddie had never been allowed this last when he was married; Myra would send him to bed like a naughty child the moment he looked remotely like he might drop off in front of the TV. She claimed his lumbar back would thank her, and it turned out she was right. Eddie spent most Sunday evenings now feeling as though he’d been thrown out of a wheelbarrow. But it was a pain like the black eye received in a surprise victory against the local schoolyard bully. A sort of trophy, really.

Most of all, Sundays were for late rises. Coffee and books in bed, and dozy embraces, and slow, lazy sex. There was a smell Eddie associated with these mornings, of bodies gone stagnant in the night overlaid by an odour of fresh sweat and semen. It should have been revolting, but wasn’t.

In the month that followed their fight these mornings took on an extra significance. It was a month of tendernesses. Of feeling their way back around one another. What had been said had needed saying, but they were both sorry for it. They sheathed their tongues from which they had made weapons, and spoke instead in loving actions. When Eddie looked back on this time later, he did so with a sense of poignancy that was both sweet and painful to remember. 

He had been woken this morning by Richie’s mouth on his neck. Muzzy with sleep, a strip of sunlight turning the backs of his eyelids a blazing red, he’d let him go at it. The surface of his skin prickled in outward ripples, like a disturbed pond. After a while he opened his eyes and moved into the kisses. Richie’s mouth was bad (Eddie’s was no better), but he’d learnt not to mind. At one point Richie propped up on his elbows above him, just out of reach, and made Eddie reach up for his mouth. Eddie was as hard as a coffin nail but his shoulder was bad, sore from physical therapy and swimming. Richie asked him if he’d like a massage instead.

‘Massage what, exactly?’ sneered Eddie. But his heart was beating hard. Just a few days ago his new physiotherapist had asked him if he had a partner who could help him with his shoulder. Without thinking Eddie said he did. The physio had shown him some techniques and forwarded him a selection of videos. ‘Just simple stuff,’ she said. ‘If you do it regularly it’ll help break down the scar tissue and increase your mobility.’

Eddie had gone home worried about how Richie would respond. He was better than he had been, enough so that Eddie could go to bed without a shirt on and still expect to be spooned. (Richie, in his heart of hearts, was the little spoon really, but Eddie’s fucked shoulder didn’t allow for it.) Eddie knew that the sight of it upset him still. He sometimes caught Richie eyeing it, with a look on his face of unreachable sadness. To ask him to not just look at it but _touch_ it? In a therapeutic capacity? Seemed sort of cruel. Nevertheless Eddie had asked him, and Richie had made a noise that sounded like assent. They hadn’t talked about it again, until now.

‘I’ve been watching the videos you sent me.’ Richie’s voice was serious and he didn’t rise to Eddie’s stupid joke. ‘They looked pretty straightforward. I think I can manage it.’

‘Are you sure?’ Eddie examined Richie closely. No doubt he was anxious, but he looked determined, too.

‘How fucking hard can it be? You’ll just… you’ll tell me if I’m hurting you, right?’

‘I think it’s supposed to be a bit uncomfortable,’ said Eddie, then caught Richie’s expression. ‘But yeah, of course I will. When have I ever missed an opportunity to chew you out?’

‘You can chew my dick,’ said Richie in a distracted way. He made a motion meant to indicate that Eddie should get on his stomach.

Eddie focussed on regulating his breathing while Richie squeezed Bio-Oil on his shoulder. Though he couldn’t see his face he could sense Richie’s discomfort. He propped his chin up on his bent elbow and reached around with his free hand, stroking Richie’s knee. He felt lips brush the back of his neck. Then his hands were on him.

‘That okay?’ Richie asked. 

Eddie _mmph_ ed an answer. It was better than okay. Sure, it hurt, and Richie had none of his physio’s professional finesse, but his hands were big and warm and… well. They were Richie’s. As with all things, doing this made the love come off Richie in surges. Like standing in the blast wave of a nuclear explosion. Eddie was still learning to get used to that.

And there was something else, too. Eddie’s erection hadn’t gone anywhere, and now it jammed at an awkward angle in the mattress while Richie straddled his back and drove the heel of his hand into his shoulder. The feeling was not sexual as such, but there was an undeniable eroticism generated by the intimacy of the act. Beyond the pain he felt blissed out and satisfied. Not for the first time Eddie was conscious of the fact that, that if he chose to do so, Richie could hurt him very badly. That secret, deep-down place inside of Eddie was touched again. He fought the urge to grind his cock into the bed.

‘If things had been different when we were kids, do you think we’d be here now?’

Eddie jerked out of his reverie. ‘What?’

‘If things had been different back then. Like, if there was no clown, and we’d told each other what we felt. If there’d been no forgetting. Do you think we’d be doing this now?’

‘Well, obviously not, because I wouldn’t have a fucking huge hole in my back,’ said Eddie. 

‘Stop pretending you’re fucking obtuse, asshole. It’s a serious question.’

He was being an asshole. It took him a while to formulate a response, his brain dull with endorphins.

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Fuck you!’ screeched Richie, with genuine offence. ‘Why the fuck not?’

Eddie made a motion that was supposed to be a shrug. ‘It just doesn’t happen like that. How many middle school sweethearts do you know who are still together?’

‘Maybe it would have been different for us.’ There was a distinct element of denial in Richie’s tone, like someone who had been shown some unpleasant but incontrovertible truth about a long-held belief. ‘We’re different.’

‘Maybe, but probably not. I mean, I was a late bloomer. A late late bloomer. I’m talking college-aged before I even began to suspect I had a sex drive at all. I used to masturbate because I heard it helped prevent prostate cancer and I’d like, think about homework or whatever. It was purely mechanical. You can’t tell me that wouldn’t have driven you up the wall?’

‘I pretty much wore through a layer of epidermis every day for a decade,’ agreed Richie. ‘It’s a miracle it’s not like one of those rawhide dog chews by now. But maybe it would have been different if I’d been around?’

‘I don’t think so. I don’t think it was, like, _psychological_ or anything, I think it was biological. I was just like that. And you’d have gone nuts.’

‘You’re not giving me much credit here,’ sulked Richie. 

‘I don’t mean – look, are you saying you’re the same person now that you were when you were twenty? Were you the same person age twenty as you were when you were twelve?’

‘Fuck, I hope not. Twenty-year-old me was a dick.’

‘Exactly. I’m not saying we’d have stopped being friends, but chances are we’d have stopped being boyfriends or whatever you want to call it. Stats’ll back me up on this.’

‘I can’t believe you don’t think we’re meant for each other.’ Richie sounded like he was trying at a joke and failing.

‘I don’t believe in soulmates,’ said Eddie crisply. ‘I just think I’m lucky to have known you at the two times in my life when you were perfect for me.’

Richie’s hands went still on his shoulder. The room was quiet, and he could hear Richie trying to get his breathing under control. He kept very still, allowing him the time he needed.

‘Eddie.’

‘I know, Richie,’ he said ‘You don’t have to say it. I know.’

‘I love you.’ Richie sounded wrecked. ‘And I don’t care what you say. If it had been different, I’d have stayed loving you. I’d love every version of you with every version of me.’

‘I know, sweetheart.’ He pulled Richie’s hand off his shoulder, angling his face to kiss the oily fingertips. He sensed the wave of feeling that shuddered through Richie’s body, the proximity such that it passed through him. Suddenly he felt very full and very brave. ‘Richie, I –.’

Richie’s phone began to ring.

‘What the fuck?’ Richie snarled. ‘Fucking Steve? He knows my Sunday rule!’

He swung off Eddie. ‘I’m sorry, babe. I gotta take this. He really never fucking calls on a Sunday, it must be important.’

Richie left the room. Eddie was suddenly cold. He cleaned the oil off with a Kleenex and put a shirt on. Outside the day was fine. He wondered if Richie would be up for a walk later.

He went into the kitchen. Richie was on the balcony, leaning on the rail. Eddie couldn’t see his face or make out the conversation he was having, but the set of his shoulders disturbed him. A coil of anxiety turned over in his stomach. Richie had been getting good feedback recently, his original stuff gaining interest if raising some eyebrows. He’d allowed himself to be cautiously hopeful. Now it looked as though all that was about to be dashed.

Eddie brewed coffee, poured two cups and took them out on the balcony. A powerful scent of rosemary and basil met him, mixed with the stench of cigarettes. Richie turned to look at him. His face was very pale and drawn with – anger? Something. Eddie didn’t know what. He put the coffee down without a word.

‘I’ll get back to you, Steve. Thanks for letting me know.’ Richie hung up. He took a drag on his cigarette that took it down to the filter.

‘What was that about?’ asked Eddie. 

‘Get inside,’ said Richie.

‘Excuse me?’ In spite of himself, Eddie felt his skin scorching with anger. 

‘Get inside before that condescending _cunt_ –.’ Richie stopped himself mid-sentence, jabbed a finger at the door. Eddie stepped back inside.

‘What the fuck is going on, Richie?’

‘I’ll tell you what’s going on,’ said Richie. He retrieved another cigarette from his pocket, lit it.

‘Dude, not indoors.’ Eddie was shocked in spite of himself. 

‘S’fucking only place I can smoke without some asshole shitheel fuck selling the story to the fucking press.’ Richie drew hugely on the cigarette, bellowing blue smoke like a furious dragon. ‘That fucking superior bitch. I know it was her. Jesus Christ, what the fuck am I going to do?’ 

‘How about you start by telling me what the fuck’s going on.’ Eddie heard the fear in his own voice. He stared into Richie’s slick, white face, terrified of what he was going to say next.

‘I got papped. _We_ got papped. The fucking pool last month.’ Richie glared at his burnt down cigarette, and flicked it in the sink. 

‘Jesus.’ Eddie’s chest felt as though it had been hollowed out.

‘’Fraid so. All over the internet. No fucking doubt whatever: they’re good shots, must have been taken by someone very close by, someone in _one of the fucking apartments_. Fuck!’ Richie started slapping his pockets, looking for another cigarette. Eddie handed him his coffee and he clasped it, needing something to do with his hands. 

‘They can’t be that bad, right? We didn’t do anything that could get us into trouble.’

Richie stared at him as though he was stupid. ‘Jesus, Eddie. That’s not the point. Kissing’s plenty for those fucking vultures. The point isn’t what we’re doing, the point is I’m doing it with you.’

As he ranted Richie’s phone lit up in his sweatpants pocket. Then it started ringing.

‘Fuck, I cannot deal with this right now.’ Richie threw back his coffee and grabbed his keys off the table. ‘I’m heading out.’

‘Dude, don’t do anything stupid.’ Eddie had visions of him walking right over to the condo across from the pool. He knew the one. Knew who lived there too. _What is it that you do again, Mr Tozier?_ Well, she fucking knew now. As did the entire internet. As did Myra’s _lawyers_ , probably. Fuck.

‘I just need to go for a walk.’ Eddie was frightened by the blank, cold look behind Richie’s glasses. He wanted to reach out and hug him, but knew how that would go down.

‘You want me to come with you?’ he asked instead. He hated the way Richie’s face twisted. The mouth curling with distaste. It was not something he had been on the receiving end of before.

‘Better not, Eds.’ Richie sounded suddenly very tired. Defeated. ‘Just – carry on like normal. Don’t pick up any calls from unknown numbers. I’m going now.’

There was an empty space where there’d usually be an I love you. Eddie felt its absence like a wound. Before he could say goodbye Richie had gone. He stared at the empty room. Seconds later, his phone began to ring. 

***

By the time Richie came home it was nearly evening, and Eddie was an anxiety attack away from calling the police.

‘Holy shit, dude.’ Richie put his keys down on the glass-top table, looking around the room with an expression caught between admiration and fear. ‘I thought it was clean before, but this makes old clean look like a bag of ass.’

‘I couldn’t go for a run so I did chores.’ Eddie put aside the dish towels he’d been ironing. ‘Where were you? You weren’t answering your phone.’

‘Sorry about that. My battery ran out and after that I was just kind of walked around. Trying to clear my head, you know.’ Richie’s eyes raked Eddie’s face. ‘Were you worried?’

‘I was. About you, I mean.’ Eddie modulated his tone. He didn’t want to Richie to think it was him he was angry at. ‘That’s why I cleaned. I need to keep myself busy otherwise I go nuts.’

‘Maybe I should be force-outed more often. I’d never have to get the deep-cleaning services in again.’ 

Eddie’s chest tightened with feeling. ‘Dude, I’m so fucking sorry.’ He wrapped his arms around himself, scooping his elbows.

Richie looked at him with a bemused expression. ‘What have you got to be sorry for? You didn’t do anything wrong.’

‘I don’t mean that. I’m just – sorry. It’s so fucking horrible.’ He’d looked, of course. He hadn’t picked up any of the phone calls, but he’d looked. Richie was right: there was no denying it was them. Seeing the pictures with his own eyes had drawn bile into his mouth, burnt his throat. The sickening sense of stolen privacy. It had occurred to him that around here most people kept their windows open overnight; it was the sort of area where you could get away with it. She’d probably heard what they said. Thinking about it again, he tasted bitterness. Felt the keen edge of hate like a blade.

‘It was going to happen eventually, I guess.’ Richie shrugged. Eddie could hardly believe how nonchalant he was. ‘Did you get any phone calls?’

‘A few. I only picked up one, though. Myra.’

‘Oh, shit.’ Richie winced.

‘Yeah. I thought I owed her that much, at least. She was actually weirdly sympathetic? Like, in a totally condescending, straight-woman’s-burden way, if that’s a thing. I think she was sort of pleased? No, pleased is mean. Relieved. Relieved that she’s got a solid reason for everything now. She never really had before. I don’t know. She tried.’

‘Maybe she’ll waive the alimony now?’

‘Not a fucking chance. That boat’s sailed.’ 

‘That’s a shame. That might have made it worth it. Especially now I might not have a career.’ Richie shrugged at Eddie’s grimace. ‘Who knows? Steve thinks there might be a way of making it work out. After he stopped freaking out, I mean. World’s a different place. I’m more famous now, that’s for sure.’

‘You seem very calm about this.’ Eddie didn’t know he was managing it; his own heart was going so hard it was making him nauseous.

‘Yeah, well. Like I said, I walked. Chewed it over. Made some phone calls of my own.’

‘Oh?’ Eddie gripped the edge of the ironing board so hard that his knuckles turned cold. ‘Who’d you talk to?’

‘Apart from Steve? My parents. My sister. You know, before they found out anyway.’

‘How was that?’

‘It was pretty okay, actually.’ There was a mixture of emotions on Richie’s face, none of which seemed to be surprise. ‘I mean, I kind of knew it always would be. They’re not assholes. It was just – I dunno. Something stopped me. Being a massive pussy, probably.’

‘Don’t fucking say that,’ Eddie snapped. ‘You’re not being fair to yourself.’

‘Well, how would you explain it?’ Richie’s tone was snide, but he was looking at Eddie like he really wanted to know. Eddie felt the anger draw back like a tide, leaving a sensation of warmth.

‘I just think it’s a bit more complicated than being a fucking pussy.’ Eddie was hauling his breaths. He clenched his jaw, wishing for his inhaler. ‘It’s difficult enough for most people, never mind all the fucking additional clown bullshit you had to put up with. Making yourself vulnerable is hard. Making yourself a target is hard. Risking rejection is hard. Other people made it so that was the case. Not you. It’s not your fault you were scared. You were made scared.’ 

‘Eddie,’ said Richie. His voice thick with feeling. 

‘Don’t you dare start fucking crying on me,’ scolded Eddie. He could feel the pressure building behind his teeth, of unsaid words pressing up against them. ‘Come here and kiss me instead.’

Richie did. Eddie made him bend down to reach him. He’d been to the coast – his clothes and skin were sharp with the scent. Sunburn had made his face rough, and his lips were wind-scoured. Yet the kiss was gentle. Too gentle. Eddie opened his mouth, drawing him in. Richie made a noise like he was hurt. Eddie pulled back. 

‘I tried to say it earlier but we got interrupted. So I’ll say it now.’ Eddie took a deep breath. He looked for the threatening tightness in his chest, and didn’t find it. Elation caught him. He grabbed onto it. ‘Richie, I love you. I always have. I probably always will. I’m sorry I can’t say it more often but that doesn’t make it any less true.’

Richie, with his good half head of additional height, looked as vulnerable as a child. ‘Oh,’ he said, big-eyed behind his glasses. 

‘I know you don’t like people seeing who you really are. But I know who you are, and you’re the best person I’ve ever known. So there.’

‘Eddie.’ Richie choked. ‘I’m going to start crying.’

‘Don’t you dare. For fuck’s sake – this is why I can’t tell you nice things. This is worse than that time I caught you watching _Homeward Bound_.’

‘Oh my god!’ Richie began to sob. ‘I can’t believe you brought that up when I’m feeling emotionally fragile. Shadow in the muddy pit, man!’

‘You’re always emotionally fragile.’ Eddie dabbed at Richie’s eyes with one of the dish towels. ‘Remember a few months ago when you taught yourself that song from _Moana_ and made yourself cry with your own singing?’

‘It’s very moving! It’s not my fault you have a stone for a heart. Ow, I cried on my sunburn.’

Eddie pulled him into a hug. Richie was big and warm and soft. He could feel the beat of his heart through his sea-smelling clothes. He turned his face, kissing the burnt cheek. ‘Serves you right for being a weepy idiot who doesn’t look after his skin. I swear, if you age prematurely because of this, I’m dumping your ass. I don’t want a wrinkly old man for a boyfriend.’

Richie stilled. ‘You mean that?’ He asked after a moment. The uncertainty in his voice made Eddie’s heart break. He squeezed him so hard his shoulder hurt.

‘That I’ll dump you? When have I ever bullshitted you?’

‘Oh, okay. Thought I’d better make sure.’ Richie’s hand came up through Eddie’s hair. He’d bitten his fingernails to the quick, and the rough edge grazed Eddie’s scalp. Eddie pushed into the touch like a pleased cat. ‘I wouldn’t want us to stop being… boyfriends.’

‘It’s been a long day,’ said Eddie, getting on his toes to reach Richie’s mouth. The corners of his lips tasted of salt. ‘Time for bed.’

***

**AUGUST AGAIN**

It had been over a year, but the memories were still returning.

Surrendering to a shapeless impulse one morning, Eddie turned off the scrub-lined path he usually ran along onto a beaten track that led to an area of low ground. Within half a mile the olive-coloured shrubbery had disappeared, making way for monkey flowers and dogwood. The ground turned soft, then boggy, sucking at Eddie’s feet. His legs ached with effort. A short, patchy canopy of ash, willow and alder grew overhead and blotted the sun. As the sound of running water approached the track vanished entirely. Sedges whipped his shins. 

He skidded to a halt just as he reached the creek. Cat-tails bowed in the breeze like gentlemen. Following the same impulse that had brought him here, Eddie pulled off his mulchy shoes and stepped into the water. Gravel shifted under his toes. The creek was shallow and he waded through it, till he came to some flattish rocks too far from the banks to be called stepping stones. They were sheeny with slimy but this didn’t bother him. He stepped up. 

The ecology was wrong, but it was the Barrens all the same. Eddie curled his toes on the slick, sunwarmed rock, the sensation as familiar as it was new. He stepped across to the next rock and thought, crazily, _hunting for tigers_. He looked into the dazzling kaleidoscope of the water. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but he thought he saw piranhas. The damp flesh of his legs prickled. Bullshit, of course. But something stirred in the old part of his mind. He got onto his knees and reached into the water.

The turtle was very small. It sat in the wet curl of his hand, black-green and still as a stone. He didn’t know how he had known it was there. He ran a finger across its shiny back. It looked back at him with ancient, clever eyes. Eddie was aware of sensation deep within him, like the needle of a compass changing direction. He put the little animal back in the water, waded to the bank and pulled on his muddy shoes. He had several miles to complete his circuit yet, but the needle was driving him home. 

When he got home he washed his feet under the outdoor faucet before heading up. The apartment was silent but for the faint burring snore coming from the bedroom. Eddie placed his keys on top of a stack of real estate brochures, stripped down to his underwear. He wanted to shower but the urge to go into the bedroom was as powerful as that which drives whales onto the shore. 

‘Hm,’ grunted Richie when Eddie kissed his neck. ‘You smell good.’

Eddie kissed his sour mouth. ‘I got divorced today.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ Richie cracked open a sleepy eye. ‘Congrats, dude.’

‘I went for a long run, but then I found this place I’d never been before, and there was a turtle, and I suddenly realised I had to be with you.’

‘That makes no sense.’ Richie ran his fingers through Eddie hair, down the edge of his face and slick sides of his neck. ‘Jesus, I love you like this.’

‘Lift your ass up, I wanna fuck.’

Richie obliged and Eddie wrenched his pyjama bottoms down. Richie was hard already, his cock a thick arc tilting towards his stomach. There was a hot, swampy, unwashed dankness that would usually have repelled him but this morning stirred another impulse. Without questioning the inclination too hard, Eddie leaned over and, for the first time in his life, took another person in his mouth. 

‘Holy fuck.’ Richie’s body seized against the mattress; Eddie could feel him fighting hard the urge to fuck up into his mouth. ‘Shit. Eddie, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.’ 

But Eddie did want to. It was weird, and faintly disgusting, but he was struck with the sudden need to give Richie something. He began to move, angling his tongue in a way Richie had done to him. The sound that came from Richie’s mouth was close to anguish.

‘Fuck. Okay then. This is one of those other things you’re just going to be good at. I’m fine with that. I’m –.’ He lurched violently, striking the back of Eddie’s throat. Eddie’s shoulders cramped in his effort not to retch. ‘Shit, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to do that. Fuck. I love you so much.’

But Eddie had sort of liked that too. He moved down experimentally, taking Richie against the back of his throat. Richie made another tortured noise and gripped the back of Eddie’s head, then let go again. Eddie snatched back the hand and placed it where it had been. Squeezed it to a fist. Richie took the hint, tugged lightly at his hair. He began to push him in a cautious sort of way. Eddie made a noise of approval and Richie pushed harder, enough that Eddie got that sense of barely controlled power. His skin tightened with lust. He began to suck with real vigour, till his mouth filled with saliva and his chin was sore with wet. 

‘You’re so good, Eds, you’re so good,’ Richie kept saying. Both hands were in Eddie’s hair now, gripping it. His hips ticked up into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie could feel the muscles bunching in his abdomen. ‘I’m real fucking close so you’re going to have to make a decision in the next thirty seconds or so.’

Eddie wanted to swallow him very much. There was something in the idea, of having a part of Richie inside him, digesting him and turning him into a part of himself. But Eddie knew his limits and he had reached today’s. He withdrew, taking Richie in his palm. It didn’t take long at all before Richie was spurting across his stomach.

Eddie patted him down with a bit of tissue before reaching over to retrieve the glass of water on his side table. Richie grabbed the opportunity to get hold of him and kiss his sloppy mouth. 

‘You’re a fucking phenomenon, Eddie Kaspbrak,’ he mumbled into his mouth. His stubble scratched the sore bit on Eddie’s chin. ‘Feel free to do that whenever you like. Hone your craft or whatever.’

‘I think I’m gay,’ said Eddie.

‘No shit?’ laughed Richie. ‘What was it that made you realise, the taste of dick?’ But he wrapped Eddie in his arms, bringing him within the sound of his heart. Eddie snuggled into it. He felt Richie kiss the top of his head. 

‘Dude, well done. I know how hard that is to say. If you need –.’

‘It’s not like that,’ said Eddie quickly. ‘I just feel like – the compass was broken, or something. I couldn’t find the way. Then today, I did.’

‘So you just said it. You were always way braver than me.’

Eddie pinched his arm, annoyed. They weren’t going to have this argument again. He turned the pinch into a caress, pulling the rough hair on the back of Richie’s arm. Richie made a noise like a purr.

‘You want me to blow you? Fuck you?’ he asked. He looked suddenly crafty. ‘Hey, if we’re trying out new things, I can eat your ass, if you like?’ He made a gross gesture. Eddie wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be alluring.

‘That’s never going to happen,’ he said. Richie made a little pout of disappointment, like he hadn’t done a dozen other times before. Eddie pinched him again. ‘Open your legs up, asshole. I’m not done with you yet.’

He fingerfucked Richie till he was hard again, till he’d gone incoherent and was so loose Eddie was pretty sure he could have got his hand in. It was tempting to keep going; he loved making Richie come from this alone. But his dick was protesting loudly and he wasn’t unselfish. He lined up and it was so fucking simple. 

‘Rich, my love, you feel so good.’

Richie went still beneath him. _Oh,_ he thought with surprise. _I can say that. Saying that’s easy_. So he said it again. ‘My love.’

‘ _Eddie,_ ’ said Richie, and there was everything in it: all his love and desperation and neediness. Eddie lifted one of his calves up onto his shoulder, kissed the blade of his ankle, and fucked him with the short, shallow thrusts that made him mewl. He came without being touched. Eddie, riding high on self-satisfaction and the feeling of having given Richie something he needed very much, altered the angle and fucked him hard. At the end he turned his face and bit Richie’s calf, hard enough to leave a mark. 

‘Come here,’ said Richie afterwards. Eddie squirmed into the space he’d made. Richie’s arm came around him. He kissed the back of Eddie’s neck, lighting up every nerve on his skin.

‘Say it again,’ Richie said.

‘My love, my lovely,’ said Eddie, kissing his hands. ‘Sweetheart, darling, fuckface. Asshole, dude, bro.’ 

Richie laughed. He ground his groin happily into Eddie’s tailbone. 

‘You’re kidding, right?’ asked Eddie.

‘Hell yeah. I need to recharge. I haven’t come twice in a row like that since I was in my twenties. I’m plumb tuckered. The baby gravy is out.’

‘Please don’t ever call it that again.’

Richie made a hurt noise. ‘Is this your way of saying you don’t want my ass-baby?’

‘Is this your way of saying you want to try celibacy?’ 

‘Fine. I promise not to use that term any more. How do you feel about cock snot?’

Eddie retched. ‘Oh my god.’

‘Man chowder? Pearl jam?’

‘Right,’ snapped Eddie, whirling around to face him. ‘That’s it, I officially declare you a virgin again. Your right to being a sexually active adult has been revoked.’

‘Is that like, a knighting? Do you put your dick on my shoulder and declare me a retroactive virgin?’ He winked and bit the tip of his tongue. ‘Because I could get into that.’

‘I think you need to like, reset. Your baby niece is going to be here in three hours.’

Richie lit up like a Christmas tree. ‘Baby grand niece. I can’t wait. I never got the opportunity to be the awesome gay uncle with Brooke. Luna is going to be different.’ 

Eddie beamed. He couldn’t help it. It had been so lovely watching Richie get excited about his family’s impending visit, if sort of foreign and weird. Eddie had never had family he enjoyed seeing. 

‘She’s going to be so fucking spoiled. You’re going to ruin her.’ Eddie had actually had to put a stop to Richie ordering more presents, pointing out that she was seven months old, there was plenty of time for that yet.

‘I am! I’m gonna be her favourite family member. I can’t wait till she falls out with her mom and I’m like, her best girl friend. I can give her advise about boys and everything!’ 

There was an obvious direction this conversation could go in, although it wouldn’t happen today. It was a conversation Eddie had had before, with someone else, and on both occasions he’d had to resort to his inhaler. Now, he found he didn’t even feel anxious about it. Undecided perhaps, but comfortable in the knowledge that when it happened – and it would – he’d be able to face it head on, unburdened by doubt or fear of Richie’s reaction. He took Richie’s face in his hands and kissed it all over, smothering him with the love that threatened to overwhelm him.

‘Oh, hey,’ said Richie, going pink and shy. 

‘Sorry, dude, I just – sometimes I remember just how much I like you.’

‘Oh. That’s nice.’ Richie blushed harder. He looked pleased and vulnerable. ‘I really like you too.’

‘Good.’ Eddie kissed him again, softer this time. Richie was vibrating with emotion. Eddie pulled him back into a hug and let him hide his face in his shoulder.

‘As we’re on the subject,’ Richie muffled. ‘I was wondering how you wanted me to introduce you to my family?’

Eddie frowned. ‘I thought they already knew about me? Your parents and sister, anyway? I mean, the photos?’

‘I asked them not to look, and they never did. They’re good like that. They know I’m living with an old school friend, but that’s it. I didn’t want to say anything more than that without asking you first.’ Richie had owned up to feeling like an asshole for not telling Eddie that Bev and Ben knew about them until he’d had to. Eddie hadn’t minded, but it bothered Richie. He supposed Richie, who’d spent three decades of his life pretending to be another person, saw these things differently. 

‘Dude, go ahead. If you want to, I mean.’

‘I want to,’ said Richie seriously. ‘They loved you as a kid and I think… well, I think knowing you were here would make them worry less about me. And, like, you’re my family too. I want them to know you.’

‘Oh.’ Eddie, to his astonishment, felt his eyes sting with tears. He balled his fists in Richie’s t-shirt. ‘I want to know them too.’

‘So, if you’re okay with that I can tell them you’re my… boyfriend?’

Richie’s voice was raw with hope. Eddie was glad he couldn’t see his face. ‘No,’ he said.

Richie twitched. ‘Oh, uh. I mean, it is pretty juvenile? Two middle-aged old men… would you like partner better?’

‘No, I don’t mean…’ Eddie’s pulse boomed in his ears, blood fizzing like champagne. He supposed this was the feeling skydivers talked about. Surrendering to a greater force. Euphoria. He thought, _am I actually going to do this?_ and then he thought, _yes_. He took a deep breath. ‘What I mean is, I think we’ve wasted enough time as it is already.’

‘How do you mean?’ Richie pulled his face out of his shoulder to look at him. Without his glasses every expression was writ large: he looked very white and wary and – no doubt about it – _anticipatory_. Eddie gripped his shirt like a vice. 

‘I got divorced today,’ said Eddie slowly. ‘And I think I’d like to be married again.’

‘Oh.’ Richie’s voice was expressionless. He popped his chin on top of Eddie’s head, putting his face back out of view. ‘Right.’

‘To you, preferably. If you’d have me.’

‘Oh.’

‘Rich, sweetheart, I need some kind of response that isn’t ‘oh’ otherwise I’m going to freak out,’ said Eddie. Yet he’d never felt further away from freaking out.

‘I’m trying to think of one that isn’t me blubbing everywhere.’

‘Yes or no will do.’ Eddie kissed his throat. Richie’s pulse flickered against his lips like a bird’s.

‘Yes.’ Richie’s voice broke. ‘Obviously yes. I shouldn’t need to tell you. _Fuck_ yes.‘

‘Good. That’s that sorted then.’ Eddie kissed Richie’s throat again. ‘Now, stop hiding and look at your future husband.’

Richie made a wet noise. When he brought his face down it was blotchy with tears. 

‘You fucking baby.’ Eddie kissed his hot damp cheeks all over. ‘Look at the state of you.’

‘You just asked me to marry you! I think I get a free pass. Anyway –,’ Richie caught Eddie’s mouth as it passed, kissing him more sloppily that was strictly necessary. ‘– Pretty sure you just promised to love my snot now.’

‘You’re so gross. Is this what you’re going to be like at the wedding?’ 

‘This is what I’m going to be like for the _marriage_.’ Richie’s mouth was a rictus of glee. ‘You thought I was obnoxious before, you wait till you’re bonded to me contractually. I’m going balls out.’

Somehow, in the struggle that followed, Eddie ended up on top of Richie. He pinned his wrists and kissed his stupid, snotty face. Then he lay on him, covering him, pressing down with his body. Put his ear to his heart. 

‘I’m not as big as you,’ he said. ‘But I’m going to do my best to look after you as well as you’ve looked after me.’

‘ _Eds._ ’

‘I love you, Rich. It’s not hard to say any more.’

Richie’s arms came around him. Eddie clasped his face, and when he looked into his eyes, Richie didn’t flinch. He leaned down. Tasted the salt of tears and the sting of a broken tooth in his lip.

**Author's Note:**

> The Moana song is of course "How Far I'll Go" :)
> 
> Comments are really appreciated and I'm the same handle over on Tumblr. Hit me up!


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